


Kintsugi

by avoidingavoidance



Series: Precious Metals [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (mild for me but worth noting), Angst with a Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, Horror, M/M, Multi, Near Death Experiences, No Character Death, Panic, Pining, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, but not the focus, most other characters are there, no love triangles, we don't do that here - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-01 21:25:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 44,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14529495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avoidingavoidance/pseuds/avoidingavoidance
Summary: Hunk and Lance are dating, and Shiro has no opinion on the matter. Really. Honestly.Except he definitely does, and he eventually has to come to terms with his feelings, or they might swallow him whole.(In which Shiro is confused, pining, and upset about it, until he doesn't have to be any more.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi i wanted to write a fic where hunk and lance are in love and shiro loves them too, and then i started writing it and it turned into this fucking behemoth
> 
> it's split into chapters, but posted all at once, because what is self control? never heard of her
> 
> (ps my gender hc for pidge changes daily but in this fic she's a trans girl)

From the moment Shiro left for Kerberos, the moment his on-board sensors read that he was no longer within Earth’s reach, nothing was certain anymore. There’s just something about steering a dinky metal tube through billions of miles of space with nothing but those thin walls separating him from the endless void that strips one of any certainty.

There’s also something about being captured by honest-to-god aliens, becoming a guinea pig for unholy magic, then being forced to fight for his life in an arena for thousands of screaming purple cats that makes one feel unsteady on any ground, but that’s another matter entirely.

Shiro got used to uncertainty. He got used to having nothing but the fading vapors of his memories to cling to for sanity. He had to.

When he came crashing down to Earth again, when Keith pulled him from another probable lifetime of faceless experimentation, when he had to turn right back around and leave the system he once called home, he took it in stride. After all, by then he was an expert at navigating surreality.

Shit happens when nothing seems real for a year.

Now that they’ve been doing this for a while, Shiro still feels like he’s on shaky ground, but there are certainties now. Things that don’t seem to change no matter what system they’re in, no matter how many battles they have to fight, and despite knowing that he shouldn’t, Shiro finds himself clinging to them like a man adrift at sea.

Coran has some Altean platitude for every possible situation that’s only halfway comprehensible, but still somehow soothing. Allura loves shiny things, and also kicking Shiro’s ass in training. Pidge carries at least seven different kinds of screwdrivers from any number of different systems. Keith can look at Shiro from across the room and see right through him, even after all the ways he’s changed. Hunk is a nervous mess sometimes, but his anxiety is all anticipatory, and Shiro knows he can count on him. Lance will always make time for a cute alien, but his eyes are sharp, and no matter how distracted he might seem, he never misses a shot.

Also, Lance and Hunk are in love. 

They’ve been together since their Garrison days, and don’t even bother to hide it. Why would they? No one cares about it, really. Pidge only cares enough to give them shit for canoodling in common areas.

Shiro most certainly doesn’t care. Even as their leader, he doesn’t care that they’re dating, and have been for years. They’re soldiers fighting a war they’ve only barely begun to understand, god knows how far from home; they have bigger things to worry about than fraternizing.

He doesn’t care. Really.

Not one bit.

\--

It’s been a slow few days, and everyone aboard the castleship is thankful for it. They’re between missions, moving steadily through space from one system to another, and even Coran seems to be enjoying the relative quiet. 

Shiro still doesn’t know what to do with free time. He doesn’t have to cower anymore, doesn’t have to spend his time dissociating in the dark, doesn’t have to count the echoes of steady metal footsteps. He’s getting better about controlling the unease he feels, about learning to just relax and exist, but sometimes he still gets restless.

Tonight, he finds himself gravitating toward the common room, where Hunk, Lance, Pidge, and Allura are relaxing, chatting and dealing with the strange, ethereal cacophony Alteans call music filtering quietly through the air. Lance is comfortably perched on Hunk’s knees, dramatically recounting some story or another with broad, sweeping waves of his hands while Hunk smiles up at him, running the knuckles of one hand along Lance’s spine. Shiro almost wants to keep moving, but Lance spots him in the doorway and pins him in place with a bright smile.

“Shiro!” he calls, spreading his arms wide. “Come listen to this crap, it’s like someone played chillstep underwater and then ran the tape through a blender.”

Shiro raises his eyebrows, then listens closer, crossing his arms over his chest. It’s absurd to admit, but Lance is actually spot on, and he’s not sure whether to be impressed or not. Rather than say it out loud and have to deal with Lance’s bolstered pride, Shiro snorts and shakes his head, then wanders further into the room. 

As he sits down, Pidge takes a deep breath, then makes some ungodly bleating sound, which tapers off into a weird sort of feeble, airy whistle. If he didn’t already know that Pidge has been trying to learn some of the more nuanced aspects of Altean grammar, he might think she’s possessed. 

Allura hums, then squints quizzically at Pidge’s mouth. “That’s close, but it’s still a little off,” she says. “Can you not fold your tongue?”

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” Pidge replies dryly. 

“It’s more like this,” Allura says before making a very similar sound, but hers ends in more of a purr, and Shiro really can’t decide if it’s better or not. 

Pidge grimaces, then tilts her head suspiciously. “Are you shapeshifting your tongue when you do that?”

“Of course not,” Allura says, in the sort of overconfident tone that means she’s never actually thought about it. She flushes and glances away, clearly contemplating the question further. While she’s distracted, Lance leans over and, with an enormous, shit-eating grin, rolls his tongue at Pidge with perfect ease. Clearly mollified, Allura nods to herself, then looks back at Pidge expectantly.

Pidge crosses her arms and frowns down at her datapad, making the sort of sour-lemon face she makes when she’s stuck on something. 

“You’ll get the hang of it, Pidgey,” Lance laughs, running his hand through his hair. “It’s easy.”

“You speak _Spanish._ ” 

“Yeah, and?” Lance turns to Shiro and holds his hand out, waiting for him to prove his point. Unfortunately, all Shiro can do is grin sheepishly and shrug. Rolling his r’s has never been one of his strong points. Lance scoffs playfully, turning his nose up, before he turns and raises his eyebrows at Hunk, who grins up at him before sticking his tongue out and curling the edges up. “Wrong!” Lance laughs, poking Hunk on the nose and leaning away dramatically.

Before Lance can go anywhere, Hunk laughs too, then easily mimics the sound Lance had made. Lance beams and turns back toward him, joining him in the tongue-rolling chorus, before Hunk just sticks his tongue out between his teeth.

When Hunk grins like that, so happy and at ease, the corners of his eyes wrinkle slightly, and he may or may not have a dimple in his left cheek.

Not that Shiro’s looking.

He sits in the common room with them for the rest of the evening, quietly listening to Pidge figure out more of those complicated sounds, watching Lance try to sway to some rhythm in Allura’s bizarre music, and as he does, some anxious part of him seems to settle just a little.

\--

When the training alarms blare the next morning, Shiro is actually relieved. He can only deal with down time for so long, after all. The sound still sends a shock of anxiety through his core, but luckily he’d already been awake, midway through what might be too many sit-ups. He rolls to his feet and puts on his armor, then jogs down to the training room, and as always, the only one who beats him there is Allura.

She runs her ideas for training plans past him while they wait for the others to join them. Keith comes in first, followed by a rather bedraggled-looking Pidge. Hunk and Lance join them last, Hunk with his hair all stuck up on one side, Lance looking fresh and fantastic as always. Morning people. Hunk, on the other hand, yawns and drags his hand through his mussed hair, and out of the corner of his eye, Shiro notices that there’s a little teal smudge of Lance’s overnight face mask on Hunk’s cheek. 

It must have rubbed off on him while he and Lance were sleeping together.

As Allura is listing the (somewhat ambitious) exercises she wants to fit into today’s training, Shiro realizes that he’s clenching his jaw just a little, so he sticks his tongue between his teeth to force his jaw to relax and focuses on Allura’s datapad again.

\--

Midway through training, Shiro basically obliterates an entire drone with his glowing fist, and he realizes belatedly that he’s kind of wound up about something. He doesn’t even know what, he feels fine. Restless, sure, but combat training usually sits fine with him. It’s even kind of soothing, even with the sudden squawking sound of Lance being punted bodily by another drone. 

Shaking his hand out with a surreptitious glance at the others, he decides that maybe he should opt out of sparring for the day. Just in case. Lance already seems kind of distracted, anyway, and the last thing Shiro wants to do is accidentally hurt him, or anyone else for that matter.

With the uneven numbers that creates, he ends up standing to the side with Keith, his arms crossed over his chest. Keith doesn’t seem to mind the break, leaning back against the wall with his eyes closed. 

Just to mess with him, Shiro takes a step back and playfully hip-checks Keith, giving him a crooked grin when he blinks his eyes open and gives him an exasperated look. “Just making sure you weren’t asleep,” Shiro laughs, easily dodging the lazy punch Keith aims at his shoulder. “Can’t have you slacking off.”

Keith arches an eyebrow at him. “If that’s the case, why am I not out there handing you your ass right now?”

Shiro tries not to be weird about the way he shrugs and glances over at the others, but it’s a futile effort with Keith. Keith knows him too damn well. He looks back over at him out of the corner of his eye, watching Keith’s shrewd gaze flick from his tense jaw, to where he has his prosthetic hand crammed tight under his arm, and back up again. 

Rather than say anything, Keith shrugs and closes his eyes again, graciously letting Shiro off the hook.

Out on the floor, Allura successfully lays Hunk out on his ass for what must be the tenth time already, patting her hands together and positively glowing with satisfaction. While Hunk is lying on his back, trying to catch his breath, Allura turns to Lance and Pidge and yells, “You two can’t just dodge each other all day, get on with it!”

Pidge grumbles about being called out, steeling her position and waiting for Lance to come at her. Lance, however, is now all too aware of the fact that Allura is watching them, and in an effort to show off for her, skips toward Pidge and swings a high kick at her. His foot goes far above his own head, a smooth, dextrous display of his flexibility, and for some reason, Shiro’s breath stutters a little.

Tragically, Lance is taller than Pidge. Much taller.

His kick goes soaring above her head, and the lack of impact sets him off balance, which leaves him completely vulnerable. Pidge grins wildly and darts toward him, sweeping her own leg against the back of Lance’s knee, then bouncing away like a little gremlin as Lance bleats and collapses in a heap on the floor.

Allura sighs and shakes her head, crossing her arms loosely. “Well, as long as we’re fighting the Galra and not anyone shorter, I suppose you’ll be in good shape,” she says. “Pidge, you’re getting quite good at using your size to your advantage, but you should be practicing for when you can’t avoid your opponent’s blows. If you don’t, you could end up in a lot of trouble.”

Pidge wrinkles her nose, but Allura has a point, and she knows it.

While everyone else resets, Shiro’s spacing out, pointedly not looking at any of them. When did his collar get so tight? He keeps tugging it away from his throat, but it just won’t sit comfortably.

It doesn’t help that, for whatever reason, Keith is squinting at him again, his gaze more piercing than it really has any right to be. He can practically _hear_ the gears in his friend’s head turning, and turning, until Keith gives a thoughtful grunt, then finally looks away.

Shiro almost wants to collapse with relief. 

“Let’s mix things up,” Allura says, cheerful as always despite the dismayed groans that Hunk, Lance, and Pidge all give her. “Keith, pair up with Pidge. That’ll give her something to practice. Lance, you’re with me.” 

Even with his bruised pride, Lance perks up like a puppy and rolls to his feet. “Wow, Princess, you sure know how to make a guy feel special. Maybe after this you and I can—”

Before he can finish, Allura turns to him with a smile and grips his shoulders, then swipes his legs out from under him with one of hers, landing him on his back with enough force to knock the breath and the rest of whatever he was going to suggest right out of his lungs. 

“Yeah, good luck, buddy,” Hunk wheezes to his boyfriend, patting him on the thigh before scuttling off to the side of the room toward the others. 

With one last too-knowing look at Shiro, Keith leans off the wall and stalks over toward Pidge, who drops low into her usual defensive crouch in preparation. All the preparation in the world can’t quite make her a match for Keith, though, seeing as he’s at least as fast as she is and twice as willing to fight dirty.

Hunk collapses on the floor next to Shiro with a loud whuff, looking very much like he’s been put through his paces. Shiro can’t help but chuckle, even as he hands Hunk a water pouch.

“Hey, thanks.” Hunk drains half the pouch in a few good swigs, then dumps the rest over his head with a ragged groan, and even though he hasn’t been doing much of anything while everyone was sparring, Shiro finds his mouth unbearably dry. He cracks open a water pouch for himself, and without really thinking about it, chugs all of it in one go.

If Hunk notices, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he blinks up at Shiro and asks, “You feeling okay? You and Keith are usually the last ones standing.”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Shiro manages, hating the way his voice wavers. He clears his throat awkwardly, then tries again. “Yeah, just wanted to check on everyone’s progress. It’s easier from the sidelines.” 

He doesn’t know why he’s lying to Hunk. It’s not like Hunk doesn’t understand anxiety, doesn’t understand the restless energy that’s harder to control sometimes.

“Oh, sure,” Hunk hums, and Shiro tries very hard not to look suspicious. He’s saved from this conversation by the sound of Lance being grappled rather ferociously, his pleas for mercy coming out squeaky and desperate. Hunk groans, then yells, “Please don’t break Lance, Princess, I’m still using that!”

Shiro’s mouth is dry again.

He glances back down at Hunk, watching water drip lazily down his flushed cheeks, still somewhat out of breath. Hunk drags his hand through his hair, and the combination of water and sweat leaves it sticking up even worse than it had been when he came in. 

He should stop staring.

Hunk shakes his head and lifts the water pouch to his lips again, but it’s unfortunately still empty, even when he sticks his tongue out and wrings the pouch out over it.

Shiro tosses him a fresh one, then mumbles, “I gotta go,” and his voice cracks in the worst possible way.

He leaves before he can hear Hunk’s response, but he can’t feel too bad about it. His entire body is buzzing with anxious energy, blood singing through his veins, and all he can think about is the fact that he has to get out of here before the walls start closing in on him.

Normally, he would retreat to his room and do a few hundred pushups, but right now that space is too small, too confined to be good for him. 

Instead, he dumps his armor on his bed, stuffs a loose shirt and some shorts on over his undersuit, and makes his way toward one of the unused residential decks.

No one goes to this part of the ship, he’s pretty sure. At least, there’s no reason to, and he’s never seen anyone here anyway. The hall is arranged in a long oval, with doors to empty rooms along the outside. The other side is just a railing, open to reveal a few more floors, and a long-empty common area on the lowest floor. 

He’d stumbled upon this deck a while ago, during one of his anxious, insomnia-driven explorations. It’s the closest thing he’s found on the ship to a running track, and even though this hall once housed dozens, maybe hundreds of people, it’s very obviously gone untouched for ten thousand years. There isn’t even dust on any of the railings.

It’s creepy as hell, honestly, but it’s somewhere that he doesn’t have to worry about anyone seeing him, and it makes for some damn good laps, so he puts up with it.

Shiro sighs, still crammed too full of restless drive, and he pauses just long enough to do some half-hearted stretches before he starts running.

\--

His muscles are screaming, and he doesn’t know how long he’s been going, but he can’t stop yet. Somewhere in his brain, he knows he’s pushing himself too hard. The urge, the pull to keep moving hasn’t left him yet, though, so he keeps going.

For the most part, his mind is blank, a sort of runner’s fog that helps keep him from going crazy. Sometimes, though, images bubble up unbidden from beneath the surface.

Hunk’s lips around the pouch. Sweat dripping from the round tip of his nose. _‘I’m still using that.’_

Lance’s easy flexibility, his flushed face, the breathless, flirtatious grin he throws Allura. _‘I’m still using that.’_

How easily Allura could pick Lance up and toss him. The way Lance had sat in Hunk’s lap the other night. The lazy drag of Hunk’s knuckles over the small of Lance’s back. His thumb dipping under the hem of Lance’s shirt, stroking familiarly across soft, bare skin.

 _‘I’m still using that.’_

Without really knowing why, every time these images intrude on his empty mind, he stops running and drops to do pushups until the burn drowns them out again, because just pushing his straining legs too far suddenly doesn’t feel like enough. 

Shiro has no idea how long he’s been down here when the elevator opens with a pleasant chime. With this momentum, he has to swerve hard to the side to avoid running Keith over as he stomps out, and it’s either hit a wall or throw himself over the balcony. 

He chooses the wall.

Keith stares at him with no small measure of alarm when Shiro collides with the wall next to him, gasping for breath and dripping sweat. 

God, he must look like shit. He kind of feels like shit now that his brain is coming back to him. He tries to at least look like casual shit, though, combing his shaking fingers back through his soaked forelock. “Oh, hey.”

“Jesus, Shiro, what the fuck.” Keith starts to reach toward Shiro, but seems to think better of it. Shiro doesn’t blame him. “What’s wrong?”

That actually catches Shiro off guard. He blinks at him, tilting his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

Keith’s alarmed expression melts away into one of exasperation. He crosses his arms and turns to face Shiro properly. “You missed dinner.”

“Oh.” Shiro glances around, even though he knows he can’t really read any of these clocks, if they still even work. “I guess I lost track of time.”

Shaking his head, Keith pulls a water pouch out of his jacket pocket and hands it to him. Shiro hadn’t realized how thirsty he’d gotten until he’s sucking the pouch dry. He hadn’t realized how sore he was, either, but now that he’s stopped moving, every muscle in his body is twitching and spasming, electric. He shakes his legs out to keep them from cramping.

While he gathers himself, Keith stares at him. “Seriously, man, I haven’t seen you like this since the night before Iverson’s simulator final.” Shiro winces, the memory fragmented and hazy at this point. He remembers the stress, though, and he remembers running laps around the Garrison until he’d almost passed out because it was better than obsessing over every twist and turn of the test flight. 

Old habits die hard.

“I dunno, I just... got flighty. Needed to let it out.”

“For hours.” 

Rather than respond, Shiro sucks on his lips sheepishly. It’s enough, though. Keith sighs and shakes his head again, then turns and glances placidly around the deck. He contemplates the still air for a minute, silently collecting himself, before turning back to Shiro. He’s got this _look_ on his face now, the sort of bulletproof stubbornness Shiro has weathered many times, and been broken down by every time. 

“You know you can talk to me, Shiro.” Shiro nods dazedly, but unsurprisingly, Keith isn’t satisfied. “About _anything._ At all.” He nods again, and Keith huffs impatiently. “I mean, I know I’m shit about people things, but I can at least listen so you can get it off your chest.” At this point, Shiro’s nodding on autopilot, and it’s clearly pissing Keith off. He reaches out and slaps his palm against Shiro’s forehead, his hand sliding through the sweat, but effectively stopping Shiro’s brainless movement. 

“Talk to me.” It’s not an offer this time.

“I don’t—” Shiro takes a step back and clears his throat, fiddling with the empty water pouch just for something to do with his hands. Keith grimaces and wipes his hand on his pants, but Shiro still has his full attention. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “I know you, Shiro. I know when something’s up.” 

Shiro lowers his gaze to the floor between them, trying to get his brains together. “I don’t know. I’ve just been having a rough few days.” 

When he doesn’t continue, Keith sighs quietly, less frustrated this time. “What were you running from?”

This is far from the first time in their long friendship that Keith has asked him that. Whenever Shiro was feeling cornered by something, trapped by something he didn’t want to think about, he would run it out, and Keith always knew when he was running from something. He’s spilled his guts to Keith so many times, sweaty and aching and vulnerable, his feet numb from hitting the pavement. 

It’s not the first time, but Shiro’s tied so tightly in knots around this that it takes him a long second to even dig it out. 

Keith waits, though.

Shiro takes a deep breath, still staring at the floor, at where his cooling sweat is drying in spots on the smooth tile.

“It’s... wrong of me.”

“Shiro, come on.”

“No, it is,” Shiro insists, finally meeting Keith’s eyes. “I’m—I’m the head of Voltron, and that kind of makes me commanding officer. It’s improper.”

He’s expecting Keith to roll his eyes, to huff and push and pry. Instead, he just tilts his head thoughtfully, then murmurs, “I was too.”

Shiro blinks widely. “Uh. What?”

“I piloted the Black Lion. I was shit at it, but I was the head of Voltron too. Don’t you remember?”

He rubs the back of his neck and mulls that over, swallowing heavily. Honestly, his memories from around that time are kind of shaky too, and he hates to admit it. He hates feeling broken.

“If that’s not good enough for you, then think about Allura. She knows more about this war than any of us, and she was just as lost as we are when she went to sleep ten thousand years ago. She has infinite seniority. So really, she’s our commanding officer, even if she spent most of her time as a leg.”

Shiro opens his mouth to refute that, but he can’t really come up with anything that doesn’t sound like he’s inflating his own ego. Knowing that he has Shiro cornered, Keith steps closer. 

“She’s a heart,” Shiro replies feebly, the shaky memory of Lance’s words shaping his own.

“Okay, well, you can’t live without that either, can you?” Keith sighs, glancing Shiro over. He’s suddenly terribly self-conscious about how he must smell, how he must look. “C’mon, Shiro. What were you running from?”

He waffles for a moment longer, but he can’t hide from Keith any more.

“‘ _I’m still using that._ ’”

Shiro tries to swallow the words before they even leave his mouth, but it doesn’t work. Keith is confused for a second, searching his expression for any other hints, before the memory clicks for him too. He wrinkles his nose and sticks his tongue out with a disgusted noise.

“Yeah, they’re gross, but what about it?”

“They’re just young and in love,” Shiro mumbles, still trying to pass this whole thing off as nothing.

Keith squints at him, and then Shiro swears he can hear the whole thing click into place in Keith’s skull. Maybe it clicks for him, too, because god knows he’s been avoiding it for months.

“Oh,” is all Keith says for a long minute, and the whole time Shiro just fidgets miserably.

“Which one of them?” Keith finally asks.

Shiro opens his mouth to reply, to finally come clean about it, ready to confess his guilt. 

Until he realizes that he doesn’t actually know.

When Hunk and Lance flirt loudly over team comms, Shiro doesn’t know who flusters him more. He doesn’t know if he wants to see Lance in his lap, or sit in Hunk’s. He doesn’t know whether he’d rather watch Lance run through his whole high-maintenance nighttime beauty routine, or watch Hunk pore over ancient tech manuals he stole from Pidge until he passes out.

When Hunk said, ‘ _I’m still using that,_ ’ Shiro had no idea which end of that he wanted to be on. He just knew that it got under his skin, and it seeped into his veins and boiled his blood until all he could do was try to sprint away from it.

“I... don’t know,” he finally manages, feeling as small and feeble as he sounds.

Keith hums at that, but to Shiro’s surprise, he just nods. 

“Well, that sucks,” is all Keith has for him. 

It’s so fucking unhelpful and so very _Keith_ that all Shiro can do is laugh, and once he’s started laughing, it’s almost impossible to stop. It’s contagious, too, and soon he and Keith are both having a grand chuckle about Shiro’s doomed crush.

Now that he’s finally faced it, though, Shiro actually feels lighter. It had been a weight on his shoulders he’d refused to acknowledge, building and building and pushing harder and harder for his attention until it had become a suffocating burden, but now that it’s in the air between them, it seems like such a small thing that he can’t help but laugh.

Keith gives his shoulder a good-natured slap, then shakes his now-sweaty hand out with a disgusted sound, and Shiro laughs at that too as they turn to the elevator together.

The showers are a floor below the paladins’ quarters, so Shiro leaves the elevator first. Keith gives him a short wave, but before the door closes, he turns around and pushes it open again. Keith just raises his eyebrows in question, arms still crossed.

“Hey, uh,” Shiro starts, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. “Thanks, Keith. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Keith’s expression softens for a second, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t make it gay, Shiro.”

Shiro rolls his eyes at that, laughing despite himself, and lets the door slide closed.

Keith always did know how to help him feel better.

\--

Shiro wakes up the next morning feeling like he got run over by a truck, then crammed into a meat grinder. He hadn’t expected anything less, but rolling out of bed is still a breath short of agonizing.

Luckily, their goals in this system are all diplomatic, so Shiro doesn’t have to do much moving. He doesn’t even need to do much talking. He just has to stand up straight and look pretty. 

While Allura is delicately guiding negotiations with the incredibly paranoid Oix’bia, reassuring them that yes, the Galra are probably trying to kill them, and no, the paladins of Voltron most certainly do not want to kill them, and no, she doesn’t know if the Quexix from the neighboring system still want to kill them or not, Shiro lets his mind wander.

This crush he has is obviously hopeless. Hunk and Lance are happy together, and have been for as long as he’s known them. He doesn’t even know which one of them he likes, for god’s sake. 

Even if he did figure it out, it doesn’t matter. They’re together. He doesn’t even want to imagine them breaking up, either. Or worse.

Shuddering slightly, Shiro takes a deep, centering breath. Don’t go there.

He tells himself again that it doesn’t matter. They’re so happy and in love, and Shiro doesn’t want to see either of them any other way. Even if it was with him.

And if that isn’t one hell of a confusing thought, he doesn’t know what is.

A loud chorus of twittering and clicking breaks his train of thought, and he blinks around at the dark, hairy insects clattering their claws together anxiously. Beside him, Allura is still smiling, but it’s extremely strained. Shiro can practically hear her teeth grinding. 

“No, Your Sharpness, the paladins of Voltron currently hold no allegiance to the Klaxocha system, nor has our vessel passed any of their planets, inhabited or not.” The alarmingly pointy bug creature before them clamors again, rustling and buzzing louder than before. It takes their helmets’ translators a moment to catch up.

“Klaxocha void is tainted. Must not crawl there, Altea’bia. Must not crawl. Altea’bia will become void tainted. Unwelcome then, unwelcome.”

“Yes, Your Sharpness,” Allura says, her voice admirably steady for someone who looks like she’s about to have a stroke. “Thank you for the warning.”

The Oix’bia leader titters, grating its long front claws together, almost like a grasshopper. It seems satisfied, though, having grilled Allura thoroughly about every species in every system the Oix’bia have ever encountered. Just to cover their bases, or whatever. 

With the promise of protection from Voltron and the completion of a few errands, the Oix’bia hesitantly offer their allegiance, although with the caveat that no other members of the alliance try to contact them for the next four thousand years. Allura agrees firmly. Shiro suspects that it’s because she desperately wants to be done with these strange creatures.

As they’re on their way out, moving slowly in single-file along a carefully calculated path winding across the bare floor (just in case), Shiro sighs and runs a comforting hand down Allura’s bicep. He can’t see her face, but some of the tension drains from her shoulders.

Not for the first time, he finds himself thinking that the entire universe is incredibly lucky to have her. Probably best to keep her sane.

\--

When they’re back on the bridge, Allura sways past her podium and slumps down into Shiro’s control station. He lets her, mostly because her own station doesn’t actually have anywhere to sit, and if anyone deserves it, it’s her. Besides, he thinks that if he sits down at any point today, he won’t be able to stand up again for a week. 

She’s silent for a long moment, staring blankly out the forward display, before finally groaning, “I just agreed to use the universe’s most powerful weapon to deliver what amounts to ‘The Sharpness says hi’ to seven different moon colonies.”

Shiro snorts at that. She throws him an extremely disgruntled look, which honestly just amuses him more. He rests a soothing hand on her shoulder, though, and says, “It’s not the first time, Princess. I doubt it’ll be the last, either.” She groans again, slumping further in his chair. “Diplomacy comes in a lot of different flavors. Honestly, we’re probably lucky it’s not worse.”

With a tired sigh, Allura nods, conceding his point. 

“Given that many of the Oix’bia seem to live in burrows, we’ll probably need to check beneath the surfaces of the moons, as well as the coordinates they gave us,” she says finally. 

“You’re not wrong,” he says, crossing his arms contemplatively. “Hate to say it, but that might take more time than we have to spare.”

She shakes her head, then sits up and starts poking around Shiro’s controls. “I’ll ask Pidge if she has any ideas.”

“I doubt that’ll be a problem for her,” he laughs. “You might want to be more specific.”

Allura chuckles at that, but before she can say anything else, their conversation is interrupted by the sound of a gathering hurricane storming onto the bridge.

“Lance, I swear to god I will throw you out the airlock,” Keith snarls, his face bright red with frustration. Shiro raises his eyebrows and turns toward them, just in time to see Lance following him onto the bridge with the most enormous trouble-making grin he thinks he’s ever seen on his face, and he’s seen many over the last few years.

“What’s going on?”

Keith narrows his eyes at him, and despite the fact that he isn’t involved at all, Shiro already feels like he’s in trouble.

“Lance found a _toy_ at the space mall,” Keith manages through gritted teeth. “I knew I shouldn’t have let him come, he’s such a f—”

Before Keith can finish cursing, a warbling, tortured scream fills the air, and for a second every part of Shiro tenses up, his heart skipping a wild beat.

Until he recognizes the sound.

Keith throws his hands in the air with an aggravated shout, and Lance pulls the toy out of his jacket.

Somehow, infinite lifetimes away from the safe, familiar planet they’d come from, Lance had found one of those stupid screaming rubber chickens at the space mall.

Shiro has to bite the insides of his cheeks viciously to keep from cracking a smile, but he can already feel laughter swelling inside him. 

Lance can’t know. Lance can never know.

Keith, who knows him too damn well, rounds on him then and jabs a finger into his chest. “Don’t you _dare_ f—” Another shriek. “—ing start, _Lance I will end you!”_

“Hey, you refused to agree to the swear jar,” Lance cackles, clutching the chicken protectively to his chest. He already has tears in his eyes. “This is a compromise.”

“ _This is not a compromise this is torture,_ ” Keith spits, visibly grinding his teeth down against the litany of venomous curses that no doubt want to spill from his mouth, mostly in interest of his own sanity. 

Shiro is a man of many dark secrets, but one of the worst is the fact that he has always had a garbage sense of humor. The same garbage sense of humor as Lance, actually, but he has gone to extreme lengths to prevent Lance from finding out. He’s their leader, after all, and leaders can’t lose their shit over dumb memes. 

Right now, Shiro can’t risk letting any words out, because if he eases up his grip on his tongue at all, he’s going to start laughing. Loudly. And he’s not going to be able to stop.

When they were still in the Garrison together, Shiro maintained a near-endless supply of these damn chickens. He loved them and their god-awful sound more than any rational human should, and Keith has reminded him of it many times, mostly while dissecting them with whichever knife was nearest at the time. Shiro had more, though. He always had more. 

Once, he taped a bunch of them to the end of a vacuum cleaner, and the resulting cacophony had resulted in Keith threatening to stab him on sight for an entire week.

Right now, Keith is dragging his hands through his hair and muttering to himself, and any time his grumbling ramps up anywhere near the word ‘fuck,’ Lance grins wildly and squeezes the chicken, happily drowning him out.

Shiro can feel his nostrils flaring, his stomach tightening. He’s maintaining his straight face for now, but he knows he’s starting to turn red, and if he doesn’t get out of here soon, it’s gonna be all over for him.

Keith glares up at him. He _knows,_ damn him. Thinking better of addressing him, he pleads his case to Allura instead. “Princess, he’ll listen to you. Do the right thing here.”

Unfortunately, Allura’s already giggling behind her hand. “I don’t know, Keith,” she manages, her voice wavering. “You’ve started cursing in three different languages now, someone has to put a stop to you.”

“Oh my f—” _shriek_ “—ing god, are there any reasonable people left on this ship?!”

Unable to contain himself, Shiro lets out a little snort. Lance doesn’t catch it, but Keith sure does, and the vengeful fire in his eyes tells Shiro that he really should have left already.

Taking a deep breath, Keith turns back to Lance and starts shouting at him, and this time he purposefully weaves as many colorful curses and insults into his tirade as he can. This isn’t for himself, though. This is punishment for Shiro, for years of enduring the fucking chicken trolling on Earth, and for refusing to put his foot down now.

Lance is already in stitches, skipping around the bridge away from Keith and honking the chicken over his rising voice, and one particularly long, horrifying warble breaks Shiro’s stoic facade altogether.

This time, Lance hears the near-hysterical giggle that wheezes its way past Shiro’s gritted teeth, even though he slaps his palm over his mouth to stifle the rest. He turns to Shiro immediately, eyes going wide with pure, unadulterated _joy._

“I knew it,” Lance says reverently, his grip on the chicken tightening, squeezing out another feeble squawk. The sound chips Shiro down more, and no matter how hard he presses his hand against his mouth, the laughter has started, and it’s not going to stop. His face is burning red anyway, and his eyes are watering, so there’s no denying what he is.

“I _knew_ Shiro’s a meme-loving fuck! Hunk owes me like a hundred bucks!”

Behind him, Keith is still fuming, his arms crossed tightly. “I told you you’d regret the fucking vacuum someday,” he growls, and the sudden, brilliant memory of the way Keith had shrieked that day breaks Shiro entirely.

While he’s howling with laughter, clutching his aching stomach, tears streaming down his face, Lance gasps and edges closer, demanding details and video footage. His hands come to grip Shiro’s shoulders, too, and when he presses closer Shiro realizes this might be the closest they’ve ever been in casual contact.

Shiro can’t quite draw enough breath to speak yet, but when he looks at Lance again, at those pretty blue eyes sparkling with glee, Shiro’s heart jumps in his chest in an entirely different way, and he thinks vaguely that he might be fucked.

It’s Lance.

Of course, of _course_ it’s Lance.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is one (1) thinly-veiled daddy kink joke in here somewhere

While Pidge is working with Coran and Allura to whip up subterranean scanning modules (just in case), the others split into groups to start combing the surfaces of Oix’s several rocky moons. An agreement is an agreement, after all, and as stupid as it is and as much as the Oix’bia had pissed Allura off, she’s not one to go back on her word.

Shiro, unfortunately, had still been afraid for his life when groups were being formed, so before he could ask Keith for a truce, Allura had already paired him with Hunk.

Oh well. It’s not optimal, but it’s slightly better for his sanity this way. At least he isn’t going to be alone with Lance for several hours just after figuring out that it’s _him._ Shiro has plenty of restraint, but the way Lance had beamed at him is probably going to have Shiro weak in the knees for days.

\--

Hunk and Shiro travel together in the black lion toward one of the less bleak-looking moons, which the sensors tell him is called Xuya, and which has a breathable atmosphere. Any anxiety Shiro had had about being in close proximity with Hunk dissipates pretty quickly after they leave; all Lance had managed to tell him before they separated was a triumphant “I was _right_!” and really, that could mean anything. 

On their way down, Hunk is more than happy to fill the silence for him, easily sharing his concerns about a relatively unknown moon, about man-eating space plants, about ‘this one time, in the weblum...’

“See, the bacteria _looked_ friendly, right? But then they started eating me and—whoa, where are you going?”

Shiro blinks at Hunk as he stands up, already reaching for his helmet. “Um. We’re here?”

Hunk’s mouth falls open, but he scoots up to the front of the lion and checks out the display for himself. “When did you land?”

“About thirty seconds ago,” Shiro laughs, and a little swell of pride blossoms in his chest. He’s always been an excellent pilot, but Hunk rarely manages to not get terribly motion sick upon entry into any atmosphere.

“Wow, why do we let Lance fly literally anything?” Hunk turns and follows Shiro out of the lion, pausing to tuck his helmet between his knees while he tightens his headband. “I mean, I love the dude, but I have nightmares about his landings. Like, weekly.”

Shiro shakes his head, but it’s not like Hunk’s all wrong. Lance is an incredibly capable pilot off the ground, but his landings still tend to be somewhat chaotic, even after a few years of piloting a lion. 

Once Hunk’s got his helmet on and their suit trackers are synced to the black lion, they turn toward the coordinates this moon’s small colony is supposed to be. Shiro had landed them in the most wide-open spot he could find, a hilly field of bright pink, wheat-like grass. He hadn’t really seen anything of note as they’d come in, but the Oix’bia had insisted that Xuya is still inhabited, so they set off to make contact.

\--

“Hey, Shiro?”

“Yup.”

“This is... really bad.”

“Yup.”

“Like, really really bad.”

Shiro shrugs at that. There’s not really much else to say; there had been some kind of village here once, but it’s gone now, and barely any rubble remains. No obvious burrows nearby, either. There’s just the faintest hint of crumbled claywork here and there, overgrown with dangling purple vines and big, poofy flowers. It should probably be somewhat menacing, but it’s a little hard to be overcome with dread when everything looks like cotton candy.

Sighing to himself, Shiro turns to Hunk, who is wringing his hands anxiously. “You call back to the castleship, I’ll contact Keith.” Hunk hums absently, his eyes traveling across the tree canopy above them, large, curly leaves dappling the distant sunlight. “Hey, Hunk.” Another hum, another nervous sweep of the area.

Shiro steps closer, resting his hand on Hunk’s shoulder. Hunk jumps, blinking widely at Shiro, but he seems to relax somewhat with the contact. “I’m right here, okay?” Shiro says, keeping his voice low and soothing. “Whatever happened here happened a long time ago. We just need to check in for some answers.” He pauses thoughtfully, then changes his mind. Hunk’s going to find out about the chicken sooner or later, anyway. “I’ll contact the princess, you should call Lance. See if they found anything on Il’zhex.”

Hunk all but wilts with relief, then nods, and Shiro’s heart does a funny little wiggle. He always finds himself thinking of Hunk as the soothing one, the comforting one, but with all that anxiety, it makes sense that Hunk would need a rock sometimes. Who better to keep him steady than his boyfriend?

With one last reassuring squeeze, Shiro steps back and shifts his attention to his suit’s comms, watching Hunk do the same. 

Coran picks up first at the Castleship, unsurprisingly. “Any progress, Shiro?” 

“Not anything good,” he replies. “Is the princess around?”

“Yes, Shiro, I’m here.” Allura sounds less frustrated than when he’d left, thankfully. The whole incident on the bridge, along with some down time with Pidge seems to have done her some good.

“Princess, I hate to do this to you, but there’s nothing here any more.”

There’s a long silence, before Allura says, “Show me.”

Shiro nods, turning on his helmet’s camera and looking around. He tries not to linger on where Hunk is standing, his hands on his helmet as if trying to press Lance’s voice deeper into his ears. He tries even harder not to wonder what that voice is saying to him, how he must sound when he’s murmuring sweet comfort. Or telling Hunk Shiro’s dark secrets. Could be either, really.

His heart does something strange again, and he has to turn around.

Fortunately, Allura’s exasperation distracts him. “Oh, for the love of—were there any other coordinates on that moon? Other settlements?”

“Not one the list we were given.” Allura says something he doesn’t understand with a surprising amount of venom, and in the background, he can hear Coran yelping, and Pidge cackling. Deciding he’d rather not know, he crosses his arms and continues, “What should we do?”

“Have you heard from Lance and Keith?”

“Hunk’s calling them now.”

Allura grumbles again, and he can practically hear her tying her endless hair up in a frustrated bun. “I’ll contact the Oix’bia technical advisor, then. Maybe they gave us the wrong information.”

“Good idea.” Shiro glances around again, then pulls up the small, projected area map and scrolls around. “We’ll try to stay close by while you do. Let me know as soon as you hear anything.”

“Will do.”

When the line goes quiet, Shiro sighs and pulls his helmet off, grateful for the fresh air, even if it smells strangely like fresh fish. He does his best not to listen what seems like the tail end of Hunk’s conversation, either; privacy aside, it feels a little too intimate for his tastes. He knows they love each other, but hearing them say it always feels like something he shouldn’t be witnessing, something that isn’t for him.

Instead, he stares blankly at one of the thick vines hanging down from the trees above, heavily laden with enormous, fluffy flowers. The petals flutter subtly, but rhythmically, almost like they’re breathing.

“They’re in the same boat we are,” Hunk says, suddenly much closer than he had been moments ago, and Shiro tries his best not to jump out of his skin. Hunk notices, and winces. “Sorry. Yeah, their coordinates are bust too. Whatever was there hasn’t been there for a long time.”

Shiro sighs heavily, dragging his hand through his hair. He catches Hunk staring at him, at where his forelock must be sticking up, and self-consciously combs it back down. “I guess we just wait, then.”

Hunk nods and crosses his arms, looking down at the same flower Shiro had been with a frown. “Is it me, or is that thing moving?”

“It’s moving.”

Taking a few large steps back, Hunk gives him a nervous laugh, then turns to look somewhere that isn’t the breathing flower. “Well, what now?”

“I told the princess we would stay close.” Shiro’s helmet rings from where it’s tucked under his arm. Both of them jump at the sound. “That was fast.”

Turns out it isn’t Allura, but Pidge calling him back, and she sounds like she’s doing her best to not die laughing. “Hey, Shiro, guess what?”

Shiro frowns. “I already don’t like where this is going.”

“Yeah, neither did Allura. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her leave a room that fast, and I’m including the time Lance tried to rip his shirt in half to show off his ‘six-pack.’” Pidge giggles again, most certainly at Lance’s expense, before taking a deep breath. “So Allura called over to the Oix’bia, and they confirmed that their records of the moons’ settlements was accurate.”

Glancing around again, Shiro makes a vaguely disbelieving noise, before looking down to make sure he isn’t actually standing on anything sentient.

“Then—oh man. Then she asked them to triple-check for her, and they got really offended, and said, ‘Altea’bia need not doubt, Oix’bia records just reclawed last Tuesday.’”

Shiro frowns at that. “They _said_ ‘Tuesday’?”

“Oh yeah.” Pidge has to take another deep, wavering breath, still struggling with her cackling. “I was confused too, so I went into the Oix-Altean translation logs and looked it up and—oh _god,_ this is the worst.”

“Pidge—”

“In the native Oix tongue, a Tuesday is a period of about seven thousand years.”

For a long moment, Shiro can’t really think of anything to say, so he just covers his mouth with his hand and squints. Beside him, Hunk tilts his head curiously. “Are you telling me—”

“Their most recent records are at least seven thousand years old.”

Shiro just closes his eyes and breathes a long, tired sigh. Pidge, meanwhile, has lost her shit entirely, and Coran has to take over for her. “Yes, Shiro? Are you there?”

“I really wish I wasn’t.”

“I imagine so. I looked up the system in the ship’s logs, and there wasn’t much information. Rather unfriendly bunch, you know.” Shiro grunts, dragging his hand down his face. “But the one note that _was_ there mentioned that the Oix’bia are incredibly superstitious, and won’t use any technology that hasn’t existed for at least one Tuesday. So, suffice to say, any information they might have is probably lacking.”

Pidge is still howling in the background, and despite himself, Shiro finds himself chuckling too. “Yeah, I guess so.” He shakes his head again, then says, “Well, where do we go from here?”

“We should still check for inhabitants, but these moons are far too large to have you scan manually. We’ll just have to adjust the scanning module slightly and go from there. Come on back.”

Sagging with relief, Shiro closes the line and turns back to Hunk, who is still blinking owlishly at him. “I’ll fill you in on the way back. Let’s get out of here.”

“Oh, thank quiznak,” Hunk sighs, pulling his helmet off and leaning his head back. “For Planet Barbie, this place smells an awful lot like garbage.”

Shiro nods his agreement, then tilts his head back the way they came. Hunk starts off toward the black lion, still complaining loudly, and when Shiro moves to follow him, his shoulder brushes past the thick, breathing vine.

He probably should have followed Hunk’s example when he had given it a wide berth.

The lower end of the vine snaps up from the ground with alarming speed, folding itself into a knot that crashes into Shiro’s gut with enough force to knock the breath out of him, to have him seeing stars. He bends forward with a wheeze, at which point the vine untangles, then wraps itself around one of his legs, and before he can even see straight, he finds himself dangling upside down a good ways off the ground, and a sharp, awful pain crackles and sears out from around his knee. 

The sound of Shiro’s helmet falling to the ground catches Hunk’s attention. He whips around and looks for him frantically, his hand already clenched around his unformed bayard. “Shiro?!”

When Shiro finally catches his breath, he’s still dizzy, so all he can manage is a ragged groan. Hunk’s attention snaps up to him, calling his name again with no small measure of panic. His bayard starts to shift into its usual form, but he seems to hesitate midway, and it shrinks back down to its handle.

The pain in his knee is getting kind of excruciating, both from the punishing grip of the vine and having his entire weight dangling awkwardly from it, so Shiro growls and activates his hand. He takes a strangled breath, then tries to swing his torso upright. 

His stomach is still reeling from the vine’s first blow, not to mention sore from yesterday, so his first attempt ends in more stabbing pain, and more stars sparking across his vision. He’s stubborn, though, and Hunk is sounding more and more terrified, so he grits his teeth and tries again.

This time, he reaches up and lashes out at the vine, and the tips of his fingers cut through most of it like butter. It smokes and spasms before it snaps, but Shiro’s less interested in that and more in the fact that he’s now falling. Headfirst.

Before he even has time to wonder if he’s about to die, his back hits the surface and knocks the air out of him all over again. The ground is softer than he’d expected, though. 

It takes him a long second to open his eyes, and an even longer second to force them to focus, but when they do, he realizes that Hunk had somehow caught him. Not gracefully, not by any means, but he’d kept him from breaking his neck, and that’s pretty much all anyone can ask for.

“Shiro, hey, are you okay?! Shiro!”

Hunk had dropped his own helmet, and he’s frantically checking Shiro’s pulse, his other hand sliding down to his stomach as if feeling for damage. He has Shiro’s head propped up in his lap, which would probably be comfortable if not for the hard armor plates over his thighs.

“Oh god, Shiro’s dead,” Hunk is babbling, his voice shaking. He’s brushing Shiro’s hair off his forehead, lightly patting his cheeks, searching for signs of life. “What am I gonna tell Lance? He’ll never forgive me! Come on, man, you can’t die on Planet Barbie—”

In interest of quelling Hunk’s rising panic, Shiro takes a rattling breath, then croaks, “Fuck _me._ ”

Probably not the best choice of words, but it pretty accurately describes where he’s at right now.

“Oh, thank god,” Hunk sobs, his hands cradling Shiro’s face. “Hey, you conscious? Can you move?”

Shiro focuses for a second on getting air back in his lungs, blinking blearily up at the tree canopy. Taking his silence for an answer, Hunk starts patting him down again, trying to figure out on his own what hurts.

“Okay, okay,” Hunk says, mostly to himself. “Okay, this is fine. I’m sure Black won’t get mad at me, then chew me up and spit me out. Unless she does. Oh, _god._ ” He takes a deep breath, though, then gently helps Shiro sit up, which is only slightly excruciating. Shiro wonders vaguely how many of his ribs are broken.

“Shiro, buddy, stay with me, I need you to help me out here.” Shiro blinks his eyes open again, making wavering eye contact with Hunk, who has moved in front of him, and is pressing his dropped helmet into his hands. “Just bend your knees up and hold onto me, okay?” The instructions don’t make much sense until Hunk turns around and kneels between Shiro’s thighs, his hands already reaching back to support him.

Hunk is offering him a piggyback ride. If it didn’t feel so much like being stabbed repeatedly, Shiro would laugh. 

“You can’t carry me,” he says, only a little slurred. 

“Watch me, big guy. Come on, hop up.”

Shiro can’t really argue with that. He leans forward and loops his arms around Hunk’s neck, his chest pressed against Hunk’s back, silently hoping that when they inevitably fall back over it doesn’t break anything else.

They don’t fall over again, though. Hunk reaches back and wraps his hands under Shiro’s thighs, careful for his fucked knee, and when he stands up, it’s like it barely takes him any effort. He just has to bounce Shiro into a slightly better grip, tucking him closer against his back.

Shiro is suddenly very, very conscious. And warm. Maybe too warm.

“Okay, let’s hope Black lets me in,” Hunk says, not even a little out of breath. He starts off across the field, mumbling viciously about traitorous pink flowers, and something about Star Trek that Shiro doesn’t catch. 

The whole way back, Shiro tries very hard to think about how much his knee hurts, because it prevents him from thinking about the way Hunk’s strong arms brush against his sides. 

Black lets them aboard without any complaint, thankfully. Shiro can hear her in the back of his head, a low, concerned rumble that soothes his frayed nerves. Hunk hesitates for a second, looking around for somewhere safe to put him, but if Shiro doesn’t detach himself from Hunk immediately, they’re going to have another, much more awkward problem.

“I can take it from here,” he mumbles, patting Hunks shoulders before worming out of his grasp. Hunk helps him steady himself, one supportive hand pressed against Shiro’s waist, but once he’s on his feet, leaning on the pilot’s chair, Hunk takes a step back.

Shiro tries not to think about how warm Hunk was, and how cold everything feels in comparison. 

He gives Hunk a tight, awkward smile, then drops himself at the controls and falls into the familiar routine of preparing to leave.

\--

The ride back is silent, which is strange for Hunk, to say the least. When Black leans down to let them out into the hangar, Hunk reaches for him again, and Shiro hates the way he tenses up, the way it makes Hunk freeze in place. He tries for another smile, but he knows it just looks weird.

“I’m gonna, uh. Healing pod,” Shiro says lamely, pointing out toward the hall.

“Oh, yeah, for sure.” Hunk scratches the back of his head, then mumbles, “I’m gonna go tell the others. I guess.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Shiro gives him a short nod, then starts hobbling toward the elevator, feeling Hunk’s eyes on him the whole time.

It was Lance. He _swore_ it was Lance.

But even when he limps into the medical bay, even when he strips down and tugs on the pod suit and all but collapses into the cool embrace of unconsciousness, he can’t stop thinking about much he’d liked Hunk’s hands on him.

Too much. Far, far too much.

\--

“The vines _moved_? That’s, like, a bad Star Trek porn trope, dude—”

“Lance, shut the hell up.”

“I wasn’t even talking to you!”

“Why are you two even here? Shouldn’t you be off making out with each other somewhere?”

“Dude, Keith, what’s your—”

Shiro’s barely even conscious and he’s already exhausted by the muffled arguing just outside. He palms the inside of the pod until the glass slides aside, then tries to step out into the warm med bay. He doesn’t make it far before he starts listing heavily to the side, but someone catches him before he can fall, their shoulder wedged under his arm and their hand resting on his chest.

“Hey, Shiro.” Keith’s voice is low, gentle against his ear, and Shiro can’t help but groan and lean his head down to rest against Keith’s. “Take it easy, man.”

Before he’d come out, there had been two other voices. He sighs and forces his eyes open, fighting against the urge to just go back to sleep. 

Hunk and Lance are there too, Lance’s expression tight with annoyance, Hunk’s brow furrowed anxiously. Shiro’s heart skips a beat at the sight of them, but guilt and confusion drown out the butterflies pretty quick. 

“You feeling okay, man?” Hunk asks softly. He’s twisting the hem of his shirt anxiously between his fingers, the fabric already wrinkled and curled like he’s been at it for some time.

Shiro shakes his head, then gets his feet more solidly under him. He lets Keith support his weight, though, grateful for the close contact. “Yeah, I’ll be fine,” he says, his voice low, gravelly like it always is when he’s fresh out of the pod. “Thanks, guys.”

“See, _Shiro_ appreciates us being here,” Lance huffs, his arms crossed stiffly. Shiro can already feel Keith bristling beside him, so in interest of stopping this fight before it starts, he squeezes Keith’s shoulders, then offers Lance what must be a miserable-looking smile. Both of them wilt slightly, although he’s pretty sure Keith is still glaring daggers, because that’s just what Keith does when he’s upset.

“Yeah, I do,” Shiro sighs, and he really does mean it, even if he no longer has any idea what the fuck is going on in his head. “What’d I miss?”

“Nothing interesting,” Lance mumbles. He’s digging the toe of his shoe against the smooth floor, the gesture weirdly shy. Before Shiro can think too much about it, Lance shakes himself out of it, stuffing his hands in his hoodie pockets instead. “We’re still working on the scan modules for now, so until Pidge gets them working right, we pretty much have the night off.”

Shiro’s brow furrows at that, and he tries not to think too hard about the dried sweat still clinging to his forehead. “She’s eating, right? How long have I been out?”

“Yes, _dad,_ ” Keith sighs, patting Shiro’s stomach soothingly. Thankfully, the pod had sorted out whatever was going on with his ribs, because the gentle contact doesn’t make him want to die.

Lance pulls a face and sticks his tongue out, then grouses, “Eww, Keith, I don’t need to know what you two call each other in your free time.”

Shiro tenses at that. The urge to die rises a little, but not because of any broken bones. 

Keith frowns at him, obviously confused, bless his heart. “You called him dad like four times in the last week alone.”

Hunk just buries his face in his hands. Crossing his arms again, Lance turns his nose up at Keith and grouses, “Pretty sure it’s different when you do it.”

“I don’t see how,” Keith spits, and Shiro can hear him getting worked up again. 

He doesn’t have to say anything, though. Before he can break it up, Hunk shakes his head and covers Lance’s mouth with his hand. “He’s had a long day,” he says kindly, ignoring the way Lance struggles and slobbers against his palm. He smiles at Shiro then, but there’s something strained about it, which makes Shiro’s heart sink almost painfully. “We’re gonna head to bed, just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

“I’ll be back in working order by tomorrow,” Shiro says, hoping to god he sounds reassuring. He gives them another smile, this one softer, less awkward. “See you guys at breakfast.”

“Bright and early,” Hunk replies, already dragging Lance back toward the bay door. As they go, Hunk smiles at them again, but this time it actually reaches his eyes, little wrinkles beside his eyes and all. 

Shiro tries not to notice. 

Once they’re gone, and Lance’s complaining doesn’t reach them anymore, Keith huffs, then pats Shiro’s stomach again. “Let’s get you to bed, old man.”

“Don’t bully me,” Shiro grumbles, leaning more of his weight on Keith just to be a pain. He pokes his lip out at him for effect, which Keith snorts at, clearly unconvinced.

“I know, I know,” he says softly, starting them toward the door. “You had a long day too.”

“You have no idea.” 

Keith blinks up at him curiously, but doesn’t push him for more. He knows Shiro’s fine to walk on his own two feet now that the pod dizziness has worn off, but he lets Shiro stay wrapped around him until they reach the door to his room.

As he stands up straight, rolling his shoulders, Shiro turns to Keith and offers him a crooked smile. “Thanks, Keith. Again.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Keith crosses his arms, giving Shiro a small smile. “See you in the morning, Shiro.” Shiro nods, patting Keith gently on the shoulder to send him on his way.

As he’s peeling himself out of the pod suit, he grimaces and makes a mental note to shower in the morning before anyone witnesses how grungy he is. It’s bad enough that Hunk and Lance both already saw him looking like such a mess.

He collapses facefirst onto his bed, and fortunately for him, he’s asleep before his brain has a chance to really fixate on what Lance had said earlier.

\--

Breakfast doesn’t happen.

Shiro’s not even midway through his shower when the alarm blares suddenly, and it echoes deafening through the steamy room, leaving Shiro frozen in place, his heart skipping painfully. He takes a few deep, counted breaths, though, soothing himself as best he can through the sound. Once he’s able to think again, he turns the shower off and pulls his armor on as fast as his shaking hands can manage.

\--

“There’s bad news,” Pidge starts, “And there’s worse news.”

Shiro pushes a mug of what passes for tea in space into her shaking hands. She’s obviously been up all night working on the scans, but whatever she found in the results has her more shaken up than anything.

“I don’t want either of them, thanks,” Hunk supplies unhelpfully.

“Tough shit.” Pidge adjusts her glasses and turns to look up at the projection of the massive planet Oix and its moons. “The Oix’bia asked us to check in with the settlements on each of their moons, right? And I mean, I suppose their hearts were in the right place, but their brains clearly weren’t, because all of their moons have been uninhabited for centuries.”

“That’s the worse news, right?” Hunk asks, his voice going a little frantic. “And whatever you’re about to say next is the bad news, which is objectively better than the worse news.”

Shiro sighs and pats Hunk’s shoulder gently, and Hunk almost seems to melt into it. Even if it’s helping, Shiro doesn’t let himself linger, crossing his arms again and blinking up at the projection. 

Oix itself is displayed in soft green, as are six of its moons.

The seventh moon, the furthest one from the planet, is bright, pulsing red.

\--

The bad news was, of the seven moons the Oix’bia believed to be inhabited, only one of them still was.

The worse news was that the moon was no longer inhabited by the Oix’bia.

It was inhabited by the Galra.

\--

They were ill-prepared for the battle that followed, but that’s not unusual for them. The Galra like to pop up unannounced all the time. This time, they had set up a quiet installment on the dark side of Oix’s tidally-locked seventh moon, working silently to establish a base from which they could take control of Oix, and from there the rest of the quadrant.

Fortunately, Voltron caught them with their pants down.

This is not to say that it was an easy fight. It rarely is. The Galra had dug their claws deep into the tiny moon, and by the time the paladins had made a sufficient enough mess of the surface base, the druids down below had already called for backup.

The battle cruiser that crept silently from the void was run by some general they’d only heard of once or twice, a cruel and barbaric Galra whose attitude problems had landed him firmly in charge of the systems in the outermost reaches of the empire. As with all no-name furballs with more ambition than strategy, he’d come at them with guns blazing, overconfident and underwhelming.

Voltron had punctured a hole straight through the vessel, all but tearing it in half.

They hadn’t stopped to take out the plasma decimator powering up on the starboard side of the ship.

As the cruiser shattered apart into twinkling stardust, glass and shrapnel and bodies twirling into loose orbit around Oix, the power flickered once, twice, and then in a great, blinding burst, the decimator fired into the silent void.

The pale beam clipped the joint holding Yellow in place. Just clipped it, but it was enough.

Shiro had been blind with pain, feeling like they had severed his own leg, had stolen another limb from him, like he was bleeding out right there in his cockpit, but he could still hear Lance screaming for Hunk over the static smothering everything around him.

He doubts he’ll ever forget that sound, or the white-hot agony of part of his soul being ripped away.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mild sexual content

The lions that remain are forced to fragment apart, to break the bond linking them before it kills them. 

Shiro’s still drowning when he throws his weight into the thrusters, barreling through the void toward where Yellow is floating lifelessly amongst the debris. Lance is still sobbing, still shouting Hunk’s name into flickering comms, but they somehow manage to pull themselves together enough to follow Pidge’s harried instructions. Together, they latch onto Yellow and tow him back to the castleship.

Galra drones buzz around them as they move, frantic without their orders, but Allura’s searing fury guides her hand as she fires the castleship’s weapons on them, decimating anything that remains. 

Once they’re docked, Shiro barely gives Black enough time to let him out properly, clawing his way out of her jaws and hitting the ground hard. He brushes off the impact, though, fire roaring through his veins and clashing against the icy dread filling his chest as he sprints toward Yellow’s hangar.

Yellow is lying on his side when Shiro gets there, sparks flying from his joints, his struggling power blinking on and off. Lance had beaten Shiro there, but rather than appeal to Yellow to open up, Lance is collapsed on the ground before him, hugging himself and shaking violently, tears streaming down his face as he stares up at the lion.

Shiro skids to his knees beside him, wrapping an arm around him before he can second-guess himself and clutching him to his chest. He can still feel an aching chasm where his link with Hunk had been, threatening to swallow him whole. God only knows how Lance must feel.

Lance tries to speak to him, but his voice catches and breaks, and anything he might have said crumbles away into heart-wrenching sobs. Shiro grits his teeth and presses his lips to the top of Lance’s head, holding him tighter, probably too tightly to be of any comfort.

The others run in then, pale as death and staring up at Yellow. They come to a stop beside Lance and Shiro, but none of them can bring themselves to move closer.

Through the static, Shiro hears Black in the back of his head, whispering and rumbling, speaking without words. Her will creeps through his veins, steadying his pulse, and when he stands again, it’s more her picking him up and making him move than anything else.

She guides him to Yellow’s nose, lifts his hand and place it against his jaw, dragging it along a deep dent on the side of his face. The metal shocks his bare fingers, but he doesn’t flinch away.

Yellow’s power fades, then flashes online again, and a rumble fills the hangar as his jaw creaks and groans, then parts.

There, cradled in the dark maw of his lion, Hunk is bleeding and barely conscious, but he’s alive.

Lance wails for him, scrambling to his feet and throwing himself into Yellow’s mouth, pulling Hunk close so he can bury his face in his chest and cry. Hunk stirs slightly, then brings one arm up around his shoulders, which just makes Lance cry harder.

“Hunk,” Shiro manages breathlessly, sliding to his knees. Hunk glances over at him and offers him a tiny, pained smile, which is really more than Shiro could ever ask for. Tears rush down his face, but he brushes them off and smiles back, then turns around falls on his ass, leaning his back against Yellow’s snout for support.

“I thought—” Lance starts, his voice shattered and hoarse, stuttering over his words too much to really use them. “I thought you’d be—”

“I’m here,” Hunk whispers, interrupting Lance before he can let that thought past his lips. He holds Lance tighter, burying his face in his hair and smearing his blood between them, but if Lance notices, he doesn’t care. “I’m right here, Lance.”

It occurs to Shiro then that Lance had been paralyzed with the fear that he’d climb into Yellow and find Hunk gone, lost to the stars just the like time they’d lost Shiro.

If he had room for any other emotions in his body right now, he’d be feeling guilt. He’s overwhelmed as it is right now, though, brimming over with worry and relief and fading panic, so he just closes his eyes and listens to Lance cry, to Hunk whispering in his ear.

After a long moment, Pidge throws herself into them as well, followed closely by Coran and Allura. Keith, on the other hand, drops heavily onto the ground beside Shiro, staring blankly at his knees, his breathing still shallow. Shiro puts his arm around his shoulders and pulls him close, and they lean on each other until the fear and pain have faded.

\--

“Are you _sure_ you don’t need a healing pod?” Coran asks for what must be the fifth time, wringing his hands anxiously. “You could have internal bleeding, or a squeedle injury, or _worse_ —”

“I’m fine, Coran,” Hunk replies. Lance is still attached to his side like a barnacle, but everyone else has allowed him at least two inches of personal space. He smiles reassuringly, then taps his temple. “Pain’s pretty much all here, anyway.”

Coran just frets more at that. The blood drying on Hunk’s face probably doesn’t help. “That’s the worst place to have pain! You should—”

“No, no, I mean—listen, physically, I’m fine, guys. A little beat up, but nothing serious.” He swallows heavily, turning to glance at his lion, who had tried once or twice to get to his feet with little success. “I just—look, everything is fine, okay? We won! We beat the Galra, planet Oix is free to be as weird as they want, it’s great.”

“You should get some rest, at least,” Shiro suggests quietly, resting his hand carefully on Hunk’s shoulder. Hunk smiles up at him, and with as drained as Shiro is, the shock of emotion that lances through him at how _pretty_ Hunk is leaves him a little molten. He clears his throat and pulls away, crossing his arms instead.

“I will, don’t worry,” Hunk reassures him. “I’m... I’m gonna stay down here tonight, though.” He turns and drags the palm of his hand over Yellow’s battered snout. The sound that echoes from within the lion is similar to a purr, but halting and quiet, and strangely tired. “I don’t want to leave him alone right now,” Hunk continues softly.

“That’s fine, Hunk.” Shiro refrains from touching Hunk again, as much as he’d like to, as much as his fears are screaming at him to check, and check again, that Hunk is really there. “Take all the time you need, the princess and I will finish things up with the Oix’bia.”

Allura sighs at that. “I’m not looking forward to informing them that they’d been occupied without even knowing it...”

“If they updated their records literally ever,” Pidge starts, already fuming. She doesn’t have to finish that thought, though. Allura snorts and gently ruffles her hair.

Everyone is reluctant to leave, but exhaustion is pulling at all of them. One by one, they head back to the ship proper, until the last ones left are Shiro, Lance, and Hunk.

“I’m staying too,” Lance says stubbornly, jutting his chin out like he dares Shiro to try and tell him no. Shiro just nods, though, which takes some of the defiant wind out of his sails. He gives Shiro a grateful smile, then links his fingers with Hunk’s, unwilling to let him go.

Shiro knows he should go, should leave them to their business, but every part of him wants to stay just a little longer.

He knows better, though.

With one last nod, Shiro turns around and leaves the hangar.

He pauses one more time before he rounds the corner and sneaks one last glance at them out of the corner of his eye. Lance had jumped up onto Hunk, clinging to him and maybe crying again, relief and gratitude radiating from every part of him. Hunk just holds him up in his strong arms, staring up at him with an expression so tender, so loving it sends a complicated spiral of emotion whirling through Shiro’s bones, filling up every hollow carved open by the sheer terror of nearly losing him.

Once again, Shiro feels like he’s intruding, like this is something he isn’t meant to see, so he forces his gaze forward and moves on.

\--

It’s both of them, he realizes later that night, when he’s still awake, still staring at the ceiling of his room, still reeling from emotional whiplash.

Of fucking course it’s both of them.

\--

Time moves forward. True to their word, Shiro and Allura weather the brunt of the diplomatic aftermath, and by the end of it, they’re both ecstatic to leave Oix and its incredibly difficult inhabitants behind them.

Every day, Shiro finds himself more and more in love with Lance, or with Hunk, or with the both of them together. 

Lance is still clingy with Hunk, still feeling the fear of almost losing him, so more often than not Shiro stumbles across them cuddled together in common areas, talking and laughing in the kitchen and in Hunk’s workshop, kissing slow and tender in rooms they think are empty, and that really should be because Shiro has no reason to be there.

Every time he beats a hasty retreat from their presence, he grows more and more confused.

He’s not jealous. This much he has determined, based on the lack of anger and frustration, of imagined rejection. Instead, finding them together fills him with this easy warmth, quickly followed by guilt.

Shiro knows he’s a little fucked up by his time in captivity. He gets lost in his head, has trouble sleeping, has trouble catching up with what’s going on around him sometimes.

He has no idea what this emotion is that he feels for them, or what to do about it.

Seeing them together, talking with either or both of them, teasing them and being teased right back...

It fills him with a hazy, nebulous _want,_ and any attempt to pin it down and make sense of it just ends with it slipping right through his fingers again, leaving him speechless.

\--

Shiro is lying on his back on the common room couch one day, staring vacantly at the ceiling, when Pidge’s excited, flushed face materializes above him. “Matt’s here!”

He can feel his smile starting to mirror hers already. He follows her down to the receiving bay and waits with her, happily watching her bounce from foot to foot while she stares intently at the airlock monitors. They both perk up when a familiar figure floats onto the screen, flashing a thumbs up over his shoulder as the outer doors close.

When the inner doors release, Matt barely has time to orient himself to the ship’s gravity before Pidge is tackling him. 

“Hey, Pigeon! I see you haven’t gotten any taller.”

“Neither have you,” Shiro laughs, leaning comfortably against the wall. Matt grins at him too, ruffling Pidge’s hair until she squawks at him and punches him in the gut.

“I don’t need to be tall when I’m this ripped,” he says, flexing his arms at Shiro. There’s not much to see through his suit, but he’s certainly more built than he was when they left for Kerberos. Not that that’s much of a feat; he’d been an actual string bean then.

Running a rebellion kind of forces a person to get in shape.

“Now, you guys are okay and all,” Matt starts, already slyly rubbing his hands together. “But where’s everyone’s favorite princess? She’s always a sight for sore eyes, and boy am I aching.”

“Matt, don’t be gross,” Pidge says, swatting him again for good measure. Matt just grins and shrugs.

Shiro steps forward and tugs Matt into a brief hug, then turns to walk with him through the ship.

“You here on business?”

“Not this time,” Matt replies cheerfully. “I’ve successfully foisted—I mean, _delegated_ my work to some of the others, so I have today all to myself. Saw you guys were in the system, figured I’d stop by.”

“You’re always welcome here,” Shiro says, offering him a warm smile.

“Oh, _that_ guy? The hell he is!” Shiro turns toward where Lance is poking his head out of a doorway, a playfully sour look on his face. Lance narrows his eyes at Matt. “He’s here to steal the princess from me, you can’t fool me.”

Matt just shrugs again, giving Lance a crooked grin. “What, Hunk not keeping you busy enough?”

“One, I resent that,” Lance says, “And two, Loverboy Lance has an awful lot of love to give, so don’t you worry your nerdy little head about that.”

Shiro hates the way his heart skips a beat, then shrivels in on itself a bit. 

“Well, enjoy your day off,” he says, turning to Matt and clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ll be around if you need me.”

“Sir yes sir,” Matt laughs, before he and Pidge elbow their way past Lance so they can bother Hunk.

When Shiro comes back to the common room, Keith had taken over his spot lying on the couch, idly fidgeting with some weird Altean puzzle he’d found somewhere. The thing looks roughly like Picasso had attempted to paint a Rubik’s cube from memory, then given up halfway through. 

Keith blinks up at him when he sits next to his head, letting the toy rest on his chest.

“What’s up?” he asks, and the question sounds casual enough, but it makes Shiro squirm a little.

“Matt’s here,” he says, doing his best to deflect. 

“He’s not with you?”

Shiro shakes his head, leaning comfortably back against the couch. “He and Pidge are with Lance and Hunk. I think they could smell him working on something new, they’re like wolfhounds for weird alien tech.”

Keith hums at that, then drops his gaze to the toy again. 

For a while, he fiddles with the puzzle quietly, sliding the differently colored blocks around at random. They’re content to just enjoy each other’s company, but before too long, Matt skips into the room and collapses on Shiro’s other side. 

“Hey, Keith.” Keith just gives him a distracted wave. “Hey, Shiro, have you seen what Hunk’s working on?”

The last time Shiro had wandered past Hunk’s work room, it had been late at night, and he’d only caught a glimpse of Lance straddling Hunk’s lap, letting himself be pressed back against the desk, their mouths hungrily seeking each other in the low light.

He’d fled immediately, then spent the rest of the night running.

“Nope,” Shiro says, and he tries so hard to be casual about it, but his voice squeaks just enough to be suspicious. 

Matt squints at him, but before he can pry, Keith sits up and faces them. “I have. It’s a modification for Yellow, right?”

“Yup. Something about how their sensors don’t pick up power surges from a long enough distance, or whatever. What’s that about?”

Shiro and Keith both pale slightly, and Matt glances between them, his smile falling. 

He still thinks about it. It was a while ago now, but Shiro still wakes up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, feeling frantically for his leg, making sure it’s really there.

He knows Keith does too.

“Safeguard,” Shiro manages finally, voice shaking. “Just in case we miss something.”

Matt glances between them, but doesn’t ask. If anything, he’ll probably ask Pidge about it later. Instead, he nods slowly, then says, “Well, it’s coming along really well. He’s a smart kid.” He grins again, elbowing Shiro in the ribs. “You’re usually so nosy, man, what’s up? Got stuff on your mind? Better not be _princess_ stuff, you know there’s no way I could ever compete with you for her heart. You’re too damn pretty.”

Before Shiro can sass him back, Keith snorts, and Shiro suddenly finds himself frantically scanning the past few weeks for anything, any reason Keith might have to torture him.

“Don’t think you have to worry about that,” Keith says cryptically, crossing his arms and giving Shiro an absolutely menacing look. It’s not outright torment, but it may as well be, because Matt is already leaning closer, eager to dig into Shiro’s business.

Shiro shrinks into the couch, hoping that it opens up and swallows him whole.

“I said I was sorry about the chicken,” he wheezes. Keith is unimpressed, though, and for good reason; Shiro had let Lance follow him around for _days_ with that fucking thing before he stepped in.

“For what Lance did with it, or for what _you_ did with it?”

Oh. Yeah. Shiro shrivels further, glancing desperately between Keith and Matt, neither of whom are known for their mercy when it comes to Shiro. The more reasonable part of his brain had told him not to slip the chicken onto Keith’s seat that one morning, but the part of him that lives to troll Keith had been far too noisy.

Keith had pulled out his knife and destroyed the thing right in front of him. He’ll miss that chicken.

Knowing that he’s dug his own shit grave and is now going to have to lie in it, Shiro looks around the common room, then hisses, “Not here.”

Thankfully, they let him drag them all the way down to Black’s hangar, checking to make sure the coast is clear before he closes the doors and resigns himself to his fate.

Keith crosses his arms and smirks at Shiro. They know they can trust Matt with any secrets they tell him, but they both also know that Matt will absolutely take any opportunity he can get to mess with Shiro until the end of time.

Shiro supposes he’s earned this. The draw of the screaming rubber chicken has always been too tempting for him to ignore.

“Shiro doesn’t know what Hunk has been working on because he can’t go five minutes around him or Lance without suddenly having _urgent business_ elsewhere,” Keith says, positively glowing with the satisfaction a good, cold revenge brings him. 

Matt gapes at him, then turns on Shiro with an absolutely enormous shit-eating grin.

Shiro contemplates throwing himself out of the airlock.

“Oh _really,_ ” Matt drawls. “And why is that?”

Keith shrugs and gives him a sharp, catlike smile. “Why don’t you ask him?”

Matt grins in return, then sidles up to Shiro, who has collapsed on a box in the corner, his face buried in his hands. “Say, Shiro, anything you wanna tell your good old friend Matt Holt?”

“Nope.”

Feigning disappointment, Matt sighs loudly and turns back to Keith. “Always so difficult. We could be here all night.”

Rather than continue messing with him, though, Matt sits on the box beside Shiro, giving him a firm pat on the back. Shiro squints at him through his fingers, infinitely more suspicious than before. Matt just sighs, though, and closes his eyes sagely. “I know how it feels to like someone who’s spoken for, man. Sucks.”

Shiro blinks at him again, then sits up. He’s still suspicious, and he knows that later Matt’s still gonna give him hell, but for now it seems all Matt has for him is actual, honest sympathy.

“Uh, yeah,” he says after a second. “Sure does.”

“Is it Lance?” Matt grins over at him again. That’s all the sympathy he gets, apparently. “I mean, you’ve always had a soft spot for noisy twinks like him. Like kryptonite or something.”

Keith tilts his head at that, then stares Shiro down. It occurs to him that Keith had asked which one it was before, and he hadn’t had an answer for him then. He hasn’t asked since, either, but his curiosity is obvious.

Shiro sighs and drags his hands through his hair again.

“It’s... I think it’s both of them.”

Neither Matt nor Keith speak for a long second. He glances up at them through his eyelashes, waiting for the inevitable teasing.

“Both of them, huh,” Matt says finally, still giving Shiro an uncomfortably scrutinizing look. 

“Uh. I think so,” is all Shiro has for him, his voice a quiet mumble just in case someone passing by hears through the five solid inches of metal that makes up the hangar doors.

“Well, that’s interesting,” Matt replies, rubbing his chin. 

Shiro sits up and frowns at him. He can feel his face flushing, and tries to suppress it. “Why?”

“What do you mean ‘why’?” Matt barks a laugh. “Takashi Shirogane, you are the most vanilla human being I know, and yet here you are with the hots for two whole people. Not to mention two people who are already dating each other.” He grins at Shiro and playfully punches his shoulder. “I didn’t think you even knew what polyamory _is._ ”

Sniffing disdainfully, Shiro shoves Matt back and grumbles, “First of all, _yes,_ I know what polyamory is.” Matt starts laughing again, so Shiro continues over him, “And second of all, I resent that.”

“What, the vanilla comment?” Shiro nods, flushing further and shrinking into himself. Matt just laughs harder.

Keith shakes his head. “Shiro, you’ve never even kissed anybody.”

Shiro thinks he might burst into flames. Matt, meanwhile, is clutching his stomach, tears of mirth streaming down his cheeks.

“I have too! What, are you keeping logs on my romantic life now?”

“I don’t have to,” Keith says, fighting against a smile.

“That time with me doesn’t count, anyway,” Matt butts in, breathless with giggles and wiping the tears from his eyes.

Shiro snaps his head toward him, sinking deeper into his mortification. “Why—why not?”

Matt gives him a crooked grin and waggles his eyebrows, then laughs, “There wasn’t enough tongue for me. Also, I haven’t seen you in a month, and I’m in a mood to bully you.”

“Lucky me.” Shiro buries his face in his hands again and groans. He hadn’t thought his face could get any more red, but Keith and Matt have always managed to bring him to new lows. He sighs and drags his hand through his hair. “It doesn’t matter if I know what polyamory is, anyway,” he mumbles, trying and failing not to sound miserable. “It’s not gonna happen.”

Keith hums and rests a hand on his shoulder, squeezing comfortingly. Matt, on the other hand, just stares at him, then blurts, “Why not?”

Shiro shrugs heavily. “I’m—I’m kind of their commanding officer. Sort of.”

“No you’re not,” Matt interrupts, but Shiro cuts him off before he can tell him what Keith already tried talking him out of.

“Still doesn’t matter. They don’t see me that way, and they’re happy together. Why would they want anyone else in on that?” Shiro laughs piteously. “Besides, they wouldn’t want me. I’m—” 

He pauses, trying to figure out how to put to words how terrible his opinion of himself is. 

“I’m too difficult,” he sighs finally. It’s not even close to how he feels, but it’s the best he has right now.

Beside him, Matt has gone quiet, his expression somber. Keith squeezes his shoulder again, offering him physical comfort in lieu of words, which they both know are not his strong suit.

“You’re not difficult, Shiro,” Matt says after a while, shifting closer to Shiro so their shoulders brush. “You’ve been through hell, man. We both have. Remember?” Shiro hums, dragging a hand down his face again. “I mean, you might have taken the brunt of it for me,” Matt continues, his voice quiet, rough with emotion, with unspoken gratitude. “But I was there. I saw you, Shiro, and I see you now.”

“Then you already know,” Shiro says shakily.

“I know _you,_ ” Matt replies firmly. He wraps his arm around Shiro’s waist and presses his cheek against his shoulder. “I know what kind of person you are. You haven’t changed as much as you think, and you haven’t changed so much that loving you would be difficult.”

Shiro sighs, but doesn’t reply. 

He doesn’t buy it, honestly. Matt means well and he knows it, but when he’s the one trapped in his head day in and day out, jumping at sudden noises and losing track of time because he got lost counting footsteps that might not even be there, it’s almost impossible to see himself as anything but difficult. _Damaged goods,_ something awful whispers from deep in his brain.

Shaking himself away from that, Shiro leans his head against Keith’s stomach, then closes his eyes when Keith’s free hand comes to comb gently through his hair.

“It doesn’t matter,” Shiro says after a while, with an edge of finality that prevents both Matt and Keith from protesting. “We have work to do out here. We can’t afford anything that might compromise our ability to form Voltron, or to function as a team.” He stands up, tearing himself away from his friends’ comforting presences. They frown after him, but he just crosses his arms and give them a tight smile. “Besides, it’s just a crush. It’ll pass.”

At least, that’s what he’s been telling himself.

For some reason, it doesn’t seem to help.

\--

Much to Shiro’s surprise, Matt doesn’t torment him about his crush. Well, not as much as he’d expected.

He does hang around the ship for longer than the day, though, and even once he’s left, they find him showing back up in their airlock more and more often.

He’s spending a lot more time around Hunk and Lance, too, and Shiro feels like he should be more nervous about that than he is.

\--

One morning, as the castleship is drifting lazily through rebel space, Shiro finds himself awake earlier than usual, even though their training had been moved to that afternoon. Rather than fight for a few more hours of sleep, Shiro sighs and leaves his bed to go about his day.

Once he’s showered and dressed, he heads down toward the training deck, thinking about going a few rounds with the drones before everyone else wakes up for breakfast. 

The ship is near silent, but for the low hum of the core, so a muffled sound from the shooting range stops him dead in his tracks.

Shiro swallows heavily, and already, he can feel heat rushing to his face.

He shouldn’t be here.

He leans against the wall, though, and before long the sound comes again, followed shortly by the steady, rhythmic rustle of clothing.

Shiro may be a virgin, but he’s got an active enough imagination to fill in the blanks.

Besides, Lance’s bitten-back whimpers do a pretty good job of it for him.

He hates himself for it, but he slinks down onto the floor, then glances around the doorway for just a brief second.

Lance’s bayard is set aside on the counter, still in the rifle form it takes for long range fights, and every target Shiro can see has a small collection of singed holes right through the heads, and more through the chests.

What draws Shiro’s attention, though, is the way Hunk has Lance bent over the counter, one hand gripping his slim hip, the other tangled with one of Lance’s, holding him still as he thrusts slow and even into him, bent down to whisper in his ear. Shiro can’t hear what he’s saying, but that’s probably for the better.

This is _definitely_ something he’s not supposed to see, but his heart is pounding in his chest, and his muscles refuse to move.

Lance’s tiny sounds grow shakier and shakier as Hunk moves, until finally he lets out an airy gasp, then stammers, “H-Hunk, wait, wait—”

A bolt of terror shoots through Shiro, but the sounds only stop for a moment before they resume in earnest, and Shiro knows he shouldn’t be here, that this is wrong of him.

He glances into the room again.

Hunk is standing upright now, cradling Lance against his chest, and one of Lance’s knees is bent up and propped on the counter, leaving him spread wide open for Hunk. The change in angle must be _incredible,_ because Lance has to lean back to muffle his noises against Hunk’s lips, and every part of him is shaking and flushed so, so pretty.

“Right there?” he hears Hunk murmur, his voice low and rough and _god_ it sends lightning flashing through Shiro’s every nerve. Lance just moans for him in response, one hand gripping the back of Hunk’s neck, keeping him close.

“G-god, Hunk, _please—_ ”

Hunk moans against the crook of Lance’s neck, then starts moving harder, earning himself a few overwhelmed whines from his boyfriend as his strong hands pull him back into his thrusts. “I’ve got you, baby, I’m right here,” Hunk sighs, and Shiro shudders and covers his mouth with his hand.

“M-me too, Hunk,” Lance gasps, his fingers tangling in Hunk’s dark hair. “Hunk, _Hunk—_ ”

The raspy growl Hunk buries in the crook of Lance’s neck has Shiro melting, his eyes squeezing shut against another flood of heat crashing through his system.

Shiro shouldn’t be here.

He shouldn’t be here.

He manages to flee without looking again and without making too much noise, and when he makes it to his empty deck, he can’t run fast enough to get away from how much he hates himself, nor from how fucking hard he is.

\--

Shiro can’t bring himself to make eye contact with either of them for a week, and he’s pretty sure his face has never been so red for so long.

He volunteers for every distress beacon they receive, and every supply mission they go out on, and if anyone notices him acting strangely, none of them say anything.

\--

After a while, the guilt starts fading somewhat. They’ve won a lot of fights, and made contact with a lot of planets, and honestly, Shiro has a long list of things he needs to do that doesn’t include beating himself up for accidentally seeing something he shouldn’t have.

Things go back to normal around the ship. Maybe better, even, because Shiro finds himself laughing more easily, relaxing more easily, even being around Lance and Hunk more easily. 

They’re all gathered on the bridge one day while Allura guides the castleship into orbit around Thesulia Prime, and Lance cracks one of his dumb jokes again, the kind that makes Keith groan and roll his eyes, the kind Shiro used to have to bite his tongue to not laugh at.

He surprises everyone, including himself, when he bursts into laughter. Lance beams over at him, visibly puffing up with pride, his wide eyes sparkling. Part of Shiro wants to be embarrassed, but he just gives Lance a wide, crooked grin and runs his hand through his hair as he turns to Allura and resumes his conversation with her.

As they’re readying to fly down to the planet, Shiro walks past Yellow’s hangar, where he overhears the tail end of a conversation.

“—’s so _fucking_ pretty, Hunk, it’s not fair,” Lance is whining, and Shiro can imagine the way he must be hanging himself limply from his boyfriend, just to emphasize how unfair whatever it is must be.

Hunk laughs at that, then obliges him. “I know, baby.”

“What do we do?”

“Uh, what we’ve been doing?”

“Suffering?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

Shiro turns into his own hangar, chuckling to himself. Lance’s crush on Allura has always been a pathetic sort of cute. And besides, Allura is probably the best example of ‘pretty’ most of them have ever seen, so it’s not like he can blame him.

For some reason, when he sets about preparing Black for departure, he finds himself feeling like she’s exasperated with him.


	4. Chapter 4

Shiro can’t even remember what he was dreaming about this time. He snaps awake already feeling the cold sweat, the tension in every muscle, the frantic, unsteady hammering of his heart, this panic too frequent, too familiar.

He’s rolling out of bed into a low crouch, then jamming himself into the back corner of his room before he even realizes what he’s doing. 

It’s a subconscious response, fleeing from some tiny noise somewhere in the ship twisted into terror somewhere between his ears and his brain. He shrinks further into the shadow, fingers spread on the floor, eyes wide and unseeing. If he holds his breath, if they can’t see him in the dark, maybe they’ll walk by, forget that he’s here. Maybe they’ll find someone else to fight for the day.

The ship is silent around him.

The ship.

He’s in his room on the castleship, not in a cell. He’s a paladin of Voltron, not the Champion.

Shiro lets out a long, heavy breath, and as the tension starts to drain out of him, he finds himself shaking violently. 

He knows where he is now, and some tiny part of him knows that he’s safe, but a much larger part of him can’t help but point out that his room isn’t much bigger than the cell he spent a year of his life bleeding into.

He doesn’t even bother finding other clothes to cover himself with before he leaves his room. It’s incredibly rare that he leaves his room without at least his undersuit, and even rarer that he finds himself wandering the halls in a loose shirt and his boxers, but it’s the middle of the night cycle, and if he takes one more breath of his room’s still air he thinks he might lose it. 

The halls are quiet around him as he moves, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. The lights are on, though, and Shiro is endlessly grateful for it, because it lets him see clearly all around him.

There are no patrols. Nothing is coming for him here.

Shiro lets himself wander, and finds himself heading toward the bridge. That’s good, that’s fine. He can look out the front display and watch as they travel freely through space. He can count the stars instead of the ghosts of footsteps. Stars won’t set his fingers twitching.

When the elevator door opens, Shiro is distracted from his disorganized thoughts by the fact that the star map is active, shining projections of stars and moons dancing through the air around him.

It’s unusual, but it’s possible that Allura could have left it running. He doesn’t really know how to turn it off, though, so he just passes through the holograms, foreign constellations scattering across his skin as he walks to the front of the bridge.

Before he can start properly zoning out, he hears the rustle of fabric behind him, and the quiet sound of someone clearing their throat awkwardly.

He tenses, but the sounds have no intent behind them. There’s no one coming to claim him here. They’re just the sounds of someone who wants to let him know they’re there, and who doesn’t want to scare him.

The sounds of someone who knows him, and knows how to approach him when he’s lost in his own head.

Shiro turns around and finds Lance sitting at his station, giving him a crooked smile and waving at him. He just blinks at him for a long moment, trying to find his words under the residual fear.

“Can’t sleep?” he finally croaks, wincing at how strange he sounds.

“Nope,” Lance replies. His voice is smooth, quiet, and something about it has Shiro relaxing just a little. Lance tilts his head and frowns, then says, “You look like hell, man.”

Shiro laughs at that, despite himself. It’s more of a wheeze than anything else, but Lance recognizes it for what it is, and the corner of his lips quirks up. Seeing as Lance is currently occupying his seat, Shiro comes and sits on the floor beside him, resting his elbows on his knees and staring out the front display.

This is the first time Shiro’s been alone with Lance in a long time. He doesn’t have any room in him to be nervous, though, or anything else really. Not right now, anyway. 

They sit in silence for a long while, Shiro staring out toward the stars floating slowly past. Lance is leaning back in Shiro’s chair, watching those same stars’ mirrored projections swirl through the air above him. 

Lance breaks the silence first, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I come up here a lot,” he murmurs, his arms crossed loosely over his stomach. “More lately, I guess. But every time I turn this map on...” He pauses to breathe out a long sigh. Shiro glances up at him, waiting for him to continue. “I dunno, maybe I’m just not that smart, but I don’t recognize any of this.”

Shiro’s expression softens. “Lance, the universe is bigger than any of us could ever grasp. There’s no way you or anyone else could memorize it all. Doesn’t make you dumb.”

Lance sighs again, his lips tightening in a small frown. He doesn’t say anything, though. Not right away. Shiro wishes he knew what to say to help him. Sometimes he gets it right, but right now he still feels lost, still scared, still on shaky ground. He hates it every time this happens, and right now he hates it more than usual, because Lance looks so tiny, so vulnerable, and Shiro can’t make words come.

Fortunately, Lance has always been better at finding words in the dark. “Hey, Shiro?”

“Yeah?”

“Where were you born?”

Shiro raises his eyebrows. “Um. Japan.”

“I know _that,_ ” Lance laughs, “But where in Japan?”

“Oh.” Smooth. Shiro rubs the back of his head awkwardly. “Asahikawa, in Hokkaido.”

“That’s the northern part, right?”

Shiro nods, then remembers Lance isn’t looking at him. “Yeah.”

“Tell me about it.”

Blinking widely, Shiro leans back on his hands and thinks. “I don’t... really remember it that well.” Lance tenses slightly, but before he can start thinking he overstepped, Shiro continues, “I was born there, but my parents and I moved to Arizona when I was, like, five. Pretty much all I remember clearly is the climate whiplash.”

“Hokkaido is cold?”

“Colder than Arizona, but most things are,” Shiro laughs. “I was miserable at first, but I got used to it before my parents did.”

“Did you speak English when you moved?”

Shiro tilts his head, but Lance is still looking up at the star map. “My parents started teaching it to me pretty young, but I was terrible at it for a long time. I was a really stubborn kid.” Lance chuckles at that, the corners of his lips tilting up. “My parents always used to tell me about this daycare I went to when I was really little, how one or two of the ladies spoke Japanese, and I’d follow them around like a lost puppy. They knew I had to learn eventually, so if I was in a good mood they’d tell me in Japanese they didn’t speak it, and get me to talk to them in English.” He snorts quietly, closing his eyes and thinking about how his mother used to smile and tease him about this.

“Do you still speak Japanese?” Lance asks after a moment.

Shiro opens his eyes and stares at his knees, lips pursed in thought. “Not really, no. We spoke English at home for whatever reason, so I never really got to practice it. I can still understand a good amount, though.” Lance hums softly. Shiro glances up at him, at how tiny he looks curled up in Shiro’s chair. “What about you?”

Lance laughs again, and this time he looks back down at him, his eyebrow raised and a playful smile on his lips. “Are you asking me if I speak Japanese?” Rolling his eyes, Shiro reaches out and gently nudges one of Lance’s knees. He doesn’t push, though, and before long Lance hums, “I was born in Texas. Same city as Keith, actually, which is really fucking weird to me.”

“Small world,” Shiro says quietly. 

“Small universe, more like,” Lance laughs, tilting his head back again. “Who knew I was born in the same place as the guy who’s barely even from this planet.” He swallows heavily, then corrects himself. “Our planet. Earth.”

“Hey, he’s at least half from Earth,” Shiro says, but he’s not admonishing Lance. 

“Yeah, I guess.” Lance sighs, then crosses his arms a little tighter. If he didn’t know better, Shiro would think Lance is cold. “Just a weird coincidence, being born right next to the guy that I’d end up fighting aliens with. Whose mother is one of those aliens.” He pauses a beat, then weakly laughs, “I dunno. Don’t know how to say it. It’s just... weird, I guess.”

“We get a lot of that these days.”

That makes Lance laugh again, but less sad this time, less hollow, and Shiro feels a little lighter. “Got that right.”

Shiro turns more toward Lance, carefully reaching up and resting his elbow on the dark display just a few inches from Lance’s bony knees, then leaning his chin in his hand. “So where did you learn to milk a cow?”

Lance barks a laugh. “Allura told you about that, huh?”

“Coran, actually. I think he’s still horrified.”

Shaking his head, Lance sits up again and when he looks down at Shiro this time, he pauses slightly. He doesn’t look uncomfortable with Shiro’s proximity, though, so Shiro lets himself stay just a little longer. “My parents own a farm in northern Texas. It’s not all that big, but it’s ours, so.” Lance sighs and fiddles with the edge of his robe, dragging his nail along the seam. 

“We spoke both Spanish and English at home, because my grandma didn’t want to speak English, and my dad wasn’t great at it. They both moved to America from Cuba. I wish...” He swallows heavily, and Shiro wants more than anything to hold him, to soothe him until he stops looking so small. “I just wish I’d spoken more Spanish with them before I left for the Garrison. I wish I hadn’t been such a brat to my abuelita about it.”

Shiro nods slowly. “You miss them,” he murmurs, and it’s something all of them have known for years, but in moments like this, Lance’s homesickness is almost overwhelming.

“Yeah,” he replies, his voice wavering just a little. He frowns, though, and clears his throat before speaking again. “I miss my cows, and our dog, and—and my mom—”

Lance’s brow furrows deeply as tears spring to his eyes, struggling against them with gritted teeth. Shiro’s entire being aches for him. “I really hate this sometimes,” Lance whispers, his voice rough and so, so vulnerable. “I know we’re doing the right thing but—I don’t recognize any of this. Sometimes I don’t even recognize the room I wake up in, because it feels so much like the longest dream in the universe.”

Shiro wants to tell Lance that he knows, that he feels the same way, but he doesn’t want Lance to overthink it, to feel guilty for opening up to him. He wants to tell him anything, but he’s choked up with hesitation, and nothing sounds right.

Instead, he reaches out and rests his hand on Lance’s forearm, soothing his thumb over soft, dark skin. Lance blinks wetly at him, staring almost disbelievingly at Shiro’s pale, scarred fingers. Before he can pull away, though, Lance covers Shiro’s hand with his own, his fingers curling under Shiro’s palm and squeezing gently. He’s so warm, and so soft, and the sad little smile he gives Shiro leaves him drowning.

God, his hands are probably still sweaty from earlier. What was he thinking?

Lance squeezes his hand again, almost as if sensing Shiro second-guessing himself. He breathes a wavering little laugh, though, and sits up straight again, and when Shiro pulls his hand back, Lance lets him.

“I probably shouldn’t do that,” Lance mumbles, crossing his arms again. Shiro tilts his head curiously. “Touch you, I mean. Keith’ll probably open up a wormhole from his room and remove my skull.”

Shiro can’t help but laugh at that, and the sound seems to cheer Lance up a little. “Sounds like Keith,” he concedes.

The space between them feels so much larger than it did before, even though neither of them have moved much. Lance stares down at his lap, still smiling crookedly, but it seems a little tighter now. “How long have you guys been together?”

That has Shiro confused again. “What do you mean? We met at the Garrison.”

“Well, duh,” Lance laughs. He tries to be covert about wiping away his residual tears with the sleeve of his robe, but Shiro is watching him too closely to not notice. “I mean, like, _together_ together. Were you dating before you left?”

Shiro can feel his eyes widening almost comically. “You think—really?” Lance just blinks at him, his arms holding himself a little more tightly. “Lance, Keith and I aren’t dating.”

Lance squints at him, his disbelief obvious. “But you’re a _thing,_ right? Like, you two are so... _gross._ ”

“One, that’s rich coming from you,” Shiro laughs, dragging a hand through his hair as he averts his gaze. “Two, we’re not a thing, and we never have been. Keith is just...” How exactly does he describe someone like Keith? Someone who’s basically the humanoid equivalent of a pissed-off porcupine, three-quarters angry spikes and one quarter soft and fuzzy. “I don’t know. We’ve just always been close.”

“Dude, I hate to tell you, but I think Keith has a crush on you.”

Shiro snorts loudly at that, and Lance gives him an incredulous look for it. “I promise you, he doesn’t.”

“Shiro, are you serious? He’s always looking for you, man.”

Shaking his head, Shiro leans his elbow on the display again and sighs. “I know he doesn’t, because I—I’m the one who had a crush on him.” Lance’s eyes bug out, and Shiro has to bury his smile in his palm. “I confessed to him, and then I didn’t see him again for about a week.”

“He tried to ghost you?”

“Mm, not really,” Shiro hums. “He was just flighty. He’s always been that way.” He gives Lance another crooked smile and laughs, “I’m not exactly Keith’s type.”

Lance rolls his eyes magnificently. “Dude, I don’t care how straight he thinks he is, you’re _you._ ” Shiro flushes dark, but doesn’t comment on that, and tries not to let his stupid brain latch onto it. “Are you sure things haven’t changed?”

“Very sure,” Shiro says firmly, and he is. “When he finally came and found me again, and after I apologized like ten times for making things weird, he explained things to me.” Lance leans forward curiously, but Shiro bites his tongue.

The talk they’d had in the dark outside the Garrison, when Keith had found him running stress laps, was something Keith had never told anyone. As far as Shiro knew, he’d still never told anyone else. Keith has always been nervous, especially in the face of emotions. Emotions aimed at him, well. Those were even worse. Even between them, even as close as they’ve always been, Keith couldn’t handle the idea of being the object of someone’s romantic feelings. 

He’d told Shiro that in the middle of the night, so tiny and anxious, twisting his hands together and refusing to look at him, and when Shiro had said honestly that he understood and that he wasn’t upset, Keith had hugged him tight, then immediately roasted him for being a sweaty mess.

And that had been that.

“Look, it’s not my place to say,” Shiro says finally. “We’ve just always been pretty physical, and I guess I got the wrong impression and ran with it. That’s all.” Lance leans back again and hums, and even though Shiro hadn’t really obliged his nosiness, he seems satisfied. He’s a smart kid, anyway, he probably gets it without Shiro needing to reveal anything.

They sit in comfortable silence for a while longer, watching the stars drift past them, and before long Shiro starts feeling sleepy again. Actually sleepy, too, not tired or exhausted or overwhelmed. Just sleepy.

He pulls himself to his feet and stretches, then smiles down at Lance. “You should catch some sleep before training.”

Lance raises a critical eyebrow, but he lifts himself out of Shiro’s chair and saunters over to Allura’s podium, where he pokes through the menu until the star map flickers, then fades out. “Same goes for you, you know. Everyone needs beauty sleep.”

Shiro snorts at that, but doesn’t refute Lance’s logic. They move into the elevator together, and Shiro really doesn’t mean to walk Lance back to his room, but it’s on the way to his, and he can’t help but pause when Lance turns to face him with a wide, pretty smile, looking far more relaxed than he had when Shiro found him.

“Thanks, Shiro.”

“Anytime,” Shiro replies, and he really means it. Maybe next time he’ll be better at using his words, but around Lance, that’s a high hope.

Lance turns to open his door, but before he enters, he turns back to Shiro with one of his terrible, smarmy grins. “By the way, I know Voltron has the sexiest pair of legs in the universe, but you’re not slouching on leg day yourself.” 

He closes the door before Shiro can really process that, but when he does, he looks down at his bare, scarred legs and realizes he’d just spent the last hour or so talking to Lance in his underwear.

Beating a hasty retreat to his own room, Shiro climbs into his bed and wraps himself in his blankets, then promptly crams his head under his pillow and screams.

At least all his stress running has been paying off.

\--

Maybe Shiro’s imagining things, but he can’t help but feel like after that night, he and Lance are just a little closer. 

It’s easier to be around him now, and Lance goes out of his way to crack jokes at him, to make him laugh. He touches him more, too, a friendly hand on his shoulder or a playful hip check here and there. Lance always seems to have these smiles for him, too, soft, pretty little things that make Shiro’s heart beat just a bit faster, but not in the tight, painful way his anxiety does.

Shiro really doesn’t know what to think of it, but he doesn’t want it to stop.

One day, after a particularly successful mission, Shiro stops Lance to compliment him on his flying, and Lance gives him an enormous smile, then jumps him, wrapping him in a firm, enthusiastic hug that makes Shiro’s legs want to melt out from under him.

Lance doesn’t linger long, peeling himself away from Shiro and bouncing over to Hunk, who he gives the same treatment, but with the added bonus of wrapping his legs around Hunk’s waist and kissing him noisily. 

Shiro watches them walk down the hall together hand in hand, Hunk chattering excitedly about how well one of Pidge’s new mods had worked, and he doesn’t even realize how dopey the smile on his face is until Keith walks up next to him and makes a disgusted sound. “You seriously have the worst taste, Shiro,” Keith grumbles. “They’re a walking pun. Where’s your sense of self-preservation?”

Without looking away from Lance’s and Hunk’s retreating backs, Shiro cheerfully replies, “Morning Starbucks anime guy.”

The resulting explosion could probably level a house, and ends with Keith stomping away bright red and fuming, snarling about how he regrets everything he’s ever confided in Shiro. It’s the closest thing Keith’s ever had to a crush, and Shiro should probably feel bad about teasing him for it, but it lasted all of two hours anyway and serves as perfect blackmail for whenever Keith starts getting too spicy. 

Shiro picks himself back up off the ground where Keith had left him and goes about his day, and if he has a pep in his step, that’s no one’s business but his own.

\--

Matt comes by the next day, but this time he’s not here to play. 

Shiro had slept uneasily the night before, which is by no means unusual for him, but it still makes the somber atmosphere on the bridge seem much more tense. He does his best to focus on the task at hand.

“So it turns out,” Matt says, handing Pidge a data drive and crossing his arms. “That Galra officer guy you guys took out outside of Oix? Yeah, he’s a much bigger pain in the ass than you thought.” Pidge pulls up the projections from Matt’s drive, displaying a large, rocky asteroid with a grungy, haphazard-looking building kind of wedged onto it. It looks anything but legit, and certainly a far cry from how the Galra generally like to run their operations.

“This is his pet project. I guess officers on the outer rim don’t have enough on their plates already.” Matt presses a few buttons on the controls, ignoring Pidge trying to swat him out of the way, and pulls up a video of the base. The traffic docking and leaving from it somehow manages to make it look even sketchier.

“What is it?” Shiro asks, trying to ignore the starts of a beastly headache building at his temples. 

“Exotic game dealers,” Matt replies grimly, and the look he gives Shiro lets him know that this is going to be a very, _very_ long day.

Both of them have more experience than they’d like with what the Galra call ‘exotic game,’ considering they both fell into that category themselves.

“Their dealings are pretty illegal in most systems, but since it was previously being run by Galra Captain Hairball over here—” Matt pauses to pull up what Shiro assumes is a picture of the deceased officer. Hell, even _he_ looks sketchy. “—no one tried to do anything about it. Now, though, he’s gone, and the place has gone to shit. Loan sharks, game dealers, bandits, every kind of garbage the outer rim has to offer are all fighting over what they think should be theirs.”

“So just let them kill each other,” Keith says blandly, shrugging when Matt raises an eyebrow at him. “What? All I’m saying is, if it’s not official Galra business, it’ll probably sort itself out.”

Matt sighs, then brings up another picture, then a few more. Shiro doesn’t recognize any of the faces, but he can already tell where this is going.

“These are all operatives that are working for me, and that I personally planted in this place.”

Keith averts his gaze.

“Now, I’m not saying I’m mad at you guys,” Matt continues, spreading his hands casually, “Just disappointed.”

“You want Voltron’s help extracting your people,” Allura says. Matt is immediately all ears, and about five feet closer to her than he was a second ago. 

“If you’d be so kind, yes.” She throws him a dubious look, but when Matt drops the playful expression, she gives him her full attention. “Look, I don’t wanna be that guy,” he starts, “But we’ve been monitoring this place for a long time. And right now, because a certain intergalactic superstar took out their boss, it’s been chaos. As Keith said, they’ll probably all end up killing each other and destroying the base, but I’d really like it if my people didn’t have to go down with that ship.”

“We’ll help you,” Shiro says, standing firm when the others turn to look at him. He crosses his arms and looks directly at Matt, not leaving room to second-guess himself. “We didn’t know anything about this when we started that fight, but good people shouldn’t have to die because we didn’t have time to look this guy up. Just a simple extraction, right?”

Matt almost withers with relief. “Yeah, sort of.” Shiro quirks an eyebrow at him, but Matt just shrugs. “Like I said, it’s kinda hairy over there. I haven’t heard from them in a while, but I have eyes on the place, and I’m not liking what I’m seeing.”

Allura sighs, already tying her hair up in a bun. She ignores the way Matt sparkles at her and says, “Since it’s not run by the Galra, and it’s falling apart anyway, I doubt we’ll need the entirety of Voltron. Take one or two of the lions if you must, but if we can do this without attracting too much attention, that would be preferable.”

“Princess, have I ever told you you’re my favorite person?”

“Hey, cool it,” Lance interjects, firmly placing himself between Matt and Allura, nose upturned. “What, you think you can just roll in here being all cool-rebel-leader-y and sweep the princess off her feet? Not on my watch, buddy.” Matt sighs, but turns away, waiting until Lance has turned around to bother Allura to blow her a kiss over his shoulder.

\--

“Hey, Shiro, wait up.” 

Shiro is already halfway to the small vessel hangar when Matt catches up with him, looking far more serious than he had before. He turns toward him, already nervous.

“What’s up?”

“I don’t think you should go.”

Brow furrowed, Shiro crosses his arms and says, “Why not? I’m just as responsible for this as the rest.”

“Yeah, I know, but...” Matt groans and rubs the back of his neck. “Look, this place is hell, I’m gonna be honest with you, but it’s going to be ten times worse for me, and a hundred times worse for you.” Shiro doesn’t respond, but anxiety is already creeping through him. “I think it’d be best for you if you stayed back and manned the mic, so to speak.”

“I can handle myself, Matt,” Shiro replies, and he hates how cold he sounds. He can’t help it, though, nor the way he’s already bristling slightly. Matt winces, spreading his hands placatingly. 

“I wasn’t saying you can’t,” Matt says quietly. “I’m just saying, you don’t have to put yourself in a situation that’s going to be bad for you just because I strong-armed the rest of Voltron into helping me out. Shit, I didn’t even want to do that, but if we’re being honest here, my people are spread pretty thin right now.”

“Which is why it’s no problem for Voltron to step in and help,” Shiro says firmly. “I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be fine.”

Matt doesn’t reply. He just watches Shiro continue down the hallway, and the last thing Shiro hears before he turns into the hangar is his friend sighing, “I hope to god you’re right.”

\--

The outpost is a fucking garbage fire, to put it mildly.

There are over a dozen small ships darting in tight orbit around it, skirmishing at random with each other and firing into the pocked surface of the asteroid, and a sizable chunk of the outpost itself is hanging precariously from snapped supports, one good kick away from flying off into space.

Keith manages to navigate the mess, darting between plasma blasts and loose chunks of broken ships, and despite Hunk turning an impressive shade of green and Lance shouting at him in an increasingly squeakier tone, Keith manages to dock their vessel at one of the few ports that haven’t been destroyed yet.

They’d decided to go about this mission plainclothes, which Shiro isn’t exactly pleased about. He understands the need for discretion, of course, but that sure as shit doesn’t mean he has to like it. They have earpieces, though, and the other paladins have their bayards concealed on their persons, so he grits his teeth against his anxiety and forces himself to focus.

The green lion is cloaked on the other side of the asteroid, too, so if anything goes south with their ride or the outpost itself, Pidge will at least be able to call her lion to bail herself and the others out.

They have backup plans. If anything goes wrong, they can still get out.

“Alright,” Shiro says once they’ve left their vessel, crouching in cover behind what might have been a table several hours and several plasma blasts ago. “We’re looking for four people. When we find them, the extraction code word is ‘Naruto’—” Pidge groans, but she’d already gotten most of it out of her system by loudly questioning her brother’s qualifications as a rebel leader while he howled with laughter. “We’re not spending more than an hour here, so let’s work fast and save who we can. Stick together.”

The others nod, and with a deep breath, Shiro darts out around the table and across the receiving bay.

\--

Shiro had emphasized the ‘ _stick together_ ’ part of his briefing, but he hadn’t accounted for the fact that the northern end of the outpost splits into two wings. He certainly hadn’t accounted for the fact that while they were crouched on either side of a hallway, bickering around screams and plasma fire, that the fight outside might very well become the fight inside.

Keith is making a very strong case for going left, ignoring the way Lance uses his head to steady his aim as he fires his bayard down the hallway, when above them, a thunderous crash of metal rattles through the outpost, shaking the foundations beneath them.

All of them stop what they’re doing and look up at the ceiling.

The rumbling grows louder, drowning out the sounds of fighting, drowning out everything around them.

The ceiling ruptures in a deafening shriek of metal and a shower of sparks as the nose of a scavenging vessel tears through it and continues right on through the floor.

The rush of the vacuum drowns out the rest, and Shiro is left in vacant, ringing silence.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here there be panic, horror, and shiro having a really bad flashback
> 
> sorry ♥

“...ro! _Shiro!_ Wake up, man, come back to me, _please_ —”

Shiro bolts upright, drenched in sweat, already frantically patting himself down to make sure he’s all there, that he recognizes all his parts. He grips his leg tighter than the rest, still on shaky ground with that one, and once he realizes he’s relatively whole, he whips around and finds Hunk beside him.

Hunk looks like he can’t decide if he wants to be relieved or throw up. He’s deathly pale either way, and cuts on his cheek and his lip are dripping blood down his jaw, but he looks like he’s in one piece too.

“Where are the others?” Shiro demands, turning and gripping Hunk’s shoulders. “What happened?!”

“When the ship came through, a blast door started closing,” Hunk says, his voice trembling terribly. “You grabbed me and shoved me through. I don’t—the others, I didn’t—” Hunk’s eyes fill with tears, and he reaches out to grab Shiro’s shirt, clinging to him desperately. “Shiro, what if—”

Shiro can’t let himself think about that. He can’t. He’s already wasted who knows how much time lost in a panicked fog, and if he goes back under, there won’t be anyone there to take care of his team.

He has to shape up.

Shaking himself out of it, Shiro grabs Hunk's wrists. “Hunk, listen. You said there were blast doors, right?”

Hunk nods shakily. “Right behind us.”

“Okay. There were probably some on the other side too, right?” Hunk gapes at him. Shiro doesn’t know if he’s trying to convince Hunk or himself. “There’s no reason there wouldn’t be, okay? They’re probably just cut off from us. That’s it.”

Hunk swallows heavily, paling further, but he nods. “O-okay, yeah. Yeah.”

Shiro remembers the earpieces Coran had given them then, and reaches up for his. His fingers slip through something leaking from his ear, something dripping down from his scalp. A cut across the side of his head gives an unpleasant twinge, and worse, the earpiece is gone.

“Right, right—” Hunk blurts, and thank god, he still has his. “Hey, Lance? Lance! Keith, Pidge, you guys there?” He gnaws on his lip, giving Shiro a terribly lost expression, but surprise flashes across his face before he cups his hand over his ear and sobs quietly. “A-are you okay? Are you hurt?”

While Hunk establishes contact with the others, Shiro pulls himself to his feet, and he’s not sure if his unsteadiness is a head injury or the base’s compromised integrity.

The blast doors are holding steady, but Shiro can feel the cold of the void through the metal when he touches it. He tears himself away from it and looks up the hallway.

The lights have all gone out here, not that that’s any surprise. Some of the emergency lights lining the walls are flickering and sparking, giving off pallid flashes of light, but aside from the floodlights above the blast doors, that’s all they get.

Shiro’s heart skips one, two beats, squeezing in his chest.

Not now. Please, not now.

His hands shake as he digs in one of his pouches, then pulls out a tiny flashlight. He clicks it on, and thankfully it gives off a surprisingly powerful amount of light for its size. Not great, but better than nothing. It’s enough to make out a few bodies strewn down the hallway, the space cluttered with folded metal from broken panels, difficult but not impossible to traverse. When he closes his eyes and listens, he can hear sounds coming from farther down, loud, panicked voices and scattered plasma fire.

When he turns back to face Hunk, his flashlight illuminates a sloppy, hand-painted arrow pointing down the hall. Above it, a few messily scrawled characters.

It’s not any language he knows, but somehow Shiro still knows what it says.

‘LIVE GAME’

His stomach curls, then floods through with ice.

\--

“They’re okay,” Hunk says once he’s done contacting the others. “Keith might have a concussion, but he’s insisting nothing is wrong, so who knows.” He pauses, going to chew on his lip and regretting it sharply when his teeth tear open the barely-scabbed cut on it. “Ow.”

Shiro rests a hand on Hunk’s shoulder, but he doesn’t know if it’s more for Hunk or himself. “We have to keep going.”

“I-I know. They know, too. Pidge got them both on their feet, so.” Hunk laughs, but it’s more of a feeble wheeze, devoid of any of his usual warmth. “I guess that solves the debate of which way to go.”

Smiling crookedly, Shiro squeezes his shoulder and nods. Hunk gives him a shaky smile, then looks up at the characters on the wall. “What d’you think that says?”

Without really knowing why, Shiro lies. “Don’t know.”

Hunk stares at him. Caught red-handed. Shiro turns and looks elsewhere, trying to escape his scrutiny. “Hey, uh,” Hunk starts, drawing Shiro’s attention again. “Maybe we should just stay here. I mean, it’s well-lit, it’s only a little crappy, and there’s a nice big landmark right outside for the others to find us, right?”

He’s talking so earnestly, still shaking with fear, and Shiro wants so fucking badly to oblige him.

“We can’t, Hunk,” is what he murmurs, and the crestfallen look Hunk gives him matches how his own words make him feel. “We don’t know how many of Matt’s people are down here, or if anyone needs help. If we just stand here and wait, innocent people could die.”

Hunk stares at the ground, looking like he’s about to cry again. “I know...” Sighing roughly, he runs a hand through his hair, then looks down the dark hallway. “I know, I know. Worth a shot, though.”

Shiro squeezes his shoulder again. “Sure was. Stay close, okay?” Hunk nods, and when Shiro sets off down the hallway, he follows him close enough that Shiro can hear his breathing.

Knowing that Hunk is still there is... very soothing.

The live game wing is a long, convoluted hallway with doors leading off to shallow storefronts, most of which have terrifyingly large cages in them. The cages all seem to be empty, thankfully, their doors either hanging open or torn apart. Many of the little shops are barricaded by blast doors, and through the thin, clear windows in them, Shiro can see out into the empty void of space. 

This outpost must have been built piecemeal, pieces tacked on as needed with little to no regard for safety regulations. The floor creaks and groans under them, rocking and shaking as the battle outside rages on. 

They make their way down to where they can still hear fighting, interrupted only by the sound of something breaking out of a small cage in one of the side rooms. What looks like an exceptionally pissed-off raccoon bursts out of the shop, snarls at them, then bolts up the hallway ahead of them. Shiro looks back at Hunk, who just shrugs, and they look after it again, watching it bolt into the glow of a struggling emergency floodlight, then take a hard left.

“Hey,” Hunk says quietly, pressed against Shiro’s back. “Did you ever see _Titanic_?” Shiro furrows his brow, then turns back to give him an incredulous look. “Don’t look at me that way, all I’m saying is, that movie taught me that if you’re ever on a sinking ship, just follow the rats.”

Shiro continues staring. “I don’t remember that scene.”

“Just trust me, okay? Movie taught me more than basic female anatomy.”

Sighing heavily, Shiro turns and continues onward.

By the time they reach the floodlight, the sounds of fighting have died out. What’s left is eerie silence, punctuated by the occasional shrill groan of metal and Hunk’s quiet whimpers. On the wall of the left hallway is more of the same sloppy, hand-painted writing. Shiro points at it and mumbles, “Escape pods that way.”

Hunk gives him another long look, but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t really have to.

The hallway continues ahead just a bit further, but a quick sweep of the flashlight doesn’t reveal anything. They can’t hear anything, either, and just as Shiro takes a step forward and squints into the dark, Hunk yelps behind him, and they both start violently.

“Hunk,” Shiro hisses, trying to keep himself under control. “What—”

“Lance, I love you, but if you scare me like that again you’re gonna be sleeping in your own room for a week.” Hunk heaves a long sigh, then reaches up to his earpiece, which is pulsing a bright blue. “You did? That’s convenient. No, there’s nothing down here. God, I hope there’s nothing down here.”

While they’re talking, Shiro turns back toward the dark end of the hallway and squints again. There’s another doorway, but this one is much larger than the others, and the bottom half of the blast door is already closed. If there are cages in the room, he can’t see them. He steps cautiously up to the doorway, taking note of the emergency switch beside it, then aims his flashlight into the room.

He scans around slowly, but stops when the beam falls on a big, wet smear of dark green... something. 

Heart pounding, Shiro follows the trail with his light, until he sees what looks like it might have been someone’s arm, something bright sparkling from the wrist. 

He hears it before he sees it.

A low, ticking growl. Whispers of movement in the dark.

It turns toward him, and its eyes shine back at him from the pitch. Too many eyes, all narrowing into slits.

He can’t fight this thing again. He _can’t._

Shiro drops the flashlight and slams his entire weight into the emergency button, and thank god, the top half of the blast door crashes down, then locks into place with the other half.

He sinks to his knees, but his vision is swimming, swimming, and he can’t hear anything but the pounding of his own heart.

Then he’s back in his cell, and all he can hear is the rhythmic tap of the patrol coming for him.

He hadn’t done well enough yesterday, he knows that. They’re going to force him to go back and fight again. He’s the Champion, he can’t leave a fight unfinished. It doesn’t matter that the thing had nearly gutted him with its jagged, horrible claws, its arms long and thin with too many joints, too many bends for him to guess its next move.

It doesn’t matter that they stopped the fight yesterday because the thing had skewered a civilian instead of him, then ripped them apart and devoured them in front of him.

He’s the Champion.

It’s either win, or die. Nothing in between.

He slams his hands against his ears, trying to block out the sounds of flesh rending, of the civilian screaming, of that haunting clattering, too many mouthparts clashing in too many ways, wet with something that steamed like acid when it fell in sloppy strings onto the arena floor.

Shiro’s holding his breath, counting footsteps and gritting his teeth against the panic. He wants to scream, wants to beg for mercy, beg for them to pick someone else. Throw someone else to the wolves. 

Maybe, maybe, if someone else can kill it, he won’t have to fight it again.

The footsteps are more hurried, echoing strangely off the walls of his cell, and he doesn’t even get the time it takes to unlock his cell to prepare himself for the hand grabbing his shoulder.

They don’t grip him hard, don’t wrap crushingly tight around his bicep. They don’t latch the chain into his collar, either, and that slip-up might be just what he needs. 

He whips around and grapples the guard, kicking his legs out from under him and swinging him around, slamming him back against the wall. Crouching over him, breathing hard, he pins the guard’s hands in place with his knees and reaches for the keys he knows are dangling from his belt.

He doesn’t find them. The guard is speaking, but Shiro isn’t listening, snarling over him and reaching for the other side.

“I’m not fighting it again,” he spits, baring his teeth. 

Still no keys.

Shiro kneels over him, still pinning him down, and activates his hand.

“Where are they?!”

The guard babbles, and some tiny part of Shiro thinks he might understand what he’s saying. He hesitates, then hates himself for hesitating.

Every fight, they rip apart more of his humanity. More of his mercy. Every kill, another part of what he used to be dies.

He has no business hesitating.

He buries his hand in the wall next to the guard’s head.

“Ta-Ta—Keith, oh my god— _Takashi!”_

Shiro pauses, a ripple of energy echoing down his arm, ending in a dark, foul-smelling billow of smoke that curls away from the wall. He snorts harshly, his breath ruffling the guard’s mussed hair.

Hair.

The guards wear helmets. Where is his?

Another pulse of energy, another wave of black smoke, this one accompanied by the stink of metal.

His hand has never worked on the cell walls, no matter how hard he tried.

“T-T-Takashi, come back, okay? It’s me, it’s just me—”

Shiro twitches hard, then takes a long, rattling breath through his teeth. Sweat drips from his face, stinging in the cut on the side of his head.

His arm pulses, then shuts down.

“That’s it, that’s right,” the guard is saying, his voice trembling wildly, terrified, but still trying to soothe him. “It’s okay, Sh—Takashi. It’s okay. You’re okay, I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Shiro’s resolve wavers, and his vision swims.

Something rams against the other side of the wall. The metal closed around his fist rattles and sparks, and when Shiro tries to yank himself away from it, his arm doesn’t budge. The screaming pain that arcs out like lightning from where the prosthetic joins his body freezes him for a moment, then crashes down on him like a bucket of ice.

He has his arm buried in the blast door. On the other side, that creature is slamming itself against the metal, trying to get to him, trying to finish the job.

Trapped beneath him, Hunk whimpers with every impact, his eyes wide and terrified.

Hunk.

This is Hunk. They’re on a mission. 

Shiro lets out a long, quaking breath, and stares down at him.

On the other side of the blast door, something crashes and rumbles, and a horrifying sound echoes out, like a thousand shrieking birds clamoring at once just before they go suddenly and violently silent.

All around them then, silence.

“A-are you sure it’s gone?” Hunk whispers, his eyes locked on Shiro. His earpiece blinks red a few times, and then a shred of relief crosses his face. He’s still staring, though, still scared, and it dimly occurs to Shiro that he had just lost whatever grip on reality he had left, and almost killed Hunk.

“H-hey, Takashi,” Hunk says then, his voice still low, still shaky. “Hey, listen, it’s gone, okay? Keith shot a hole in the wall—y-you remember Keith?—and it got sucked out. It’s gone. It’s just you and me now. You’re safe.”

Shiro gapes at him, shifting his weight. Hunk carefully wiggles his hands free, but doesn’t try to touch him, not yet.

It takes him a miserable amount of time to gather himself enough to speak.

“... Hunk.”

Shiro cannot fathom why, but Hunk wilts with relief, his eyes filling with tears and a shaky smile spreading across his face. “Hey, there you are, Takashi.”

Whatever he’d had left of his control shatters, and before he can stop himself, tears are rolling down his cheeks. He stammers Hunk’s name again, shrinking in on himself, the guilt and shame and _horror_ weighing down on him now that he’s somewhat lucid again.

Hunk just hums for him. His earpiece flashes red again, and Hunk makes a hesitant, dubious face. It only lasts a second, though. Then he reaches up, his hand shaking wildly, and rests his palm against Shiro’s cheek. “You’re okay, Takashi,” he whispers, staring up at him, his eyes restlessly scanning his face. “You’re okay, I’ve got you. I’m not leaving you, okay? I’m right here.”

“I-I—I just—” Shiro’s breath hitches once, twice before he starts sobbing.

Moving slowly, Hunk reaches up with both hands and pulls Shiro down into his lap, then cradles him against his chest and presses his face into his hair, and while Shiro’s choking out fractured apologies and struggling for air, Hunk just holds him and gently rocks him back and forth. His hands are big and warm on Shiro’s back, petting soothingly along his spine, his voice whispering sweet comfort to him.

Even though he’s dangerous, even though he’s an animal, deadly and unhinged and desperate to survive, Hunk holds him close and murmurs his name, and even though he doesn’t deserve this, Shiro lets himself be held while he cries.

\--

While Keith is forcing the escape pod bay to dock with their vessel, Shiro pulls his hand free of the blast door. He hadn’t punched all the way through it, but what’s left will only hold for so long. He shudders, then lets Hunk help him to his feet. Every time Hunk touches him, Shiro jolts, terrified that he might lose his grip and hurt him again. 

He lets Hunk lead him to the ship, the unstable lock whistling as the vacuum attempts to claim the air around them. They shuffle in quickly, and once the door closes behind them, Keith wrenches away from the dock, taking half of the escape pods with him. They fall off once he’s gained speed, and once they’re unencumbered, the ship stabilizes again, and everything is quiet.

Shiro sits in silence, his elbows braced on his knees, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. His face is smeared with sweat and blood and dirt, and he still feels like his skin is crawling electric, but he remembers who he is now, where he is, why he was there.

Fuck, he should have listened to Matt.

Beside him, inexplicably, Hunk is still dragging his hand slowly up and down Shiro’s back. He’s talking to Lance, who sounds anxious, upset, but Shiro can’t make sense of the words, so he doesn’t try.

He’d tried to kill Hunk, but even now that Hunk had pulled him out of the dark, he’s still lingering, still touching him, and Shiro can’t understand why.

Hunk should be running away screaming.

He should never want to be within ten feet of Shiro ever again.

He should be telling everyone, telling them that Shiro is a monster, because he _is,_ and Hunk has no reason to tell anything but the truth.

Cold hands wrapping around his wrists breaks him out of his downward spiral. He blinks the salt from his eyes, and when the sparks and the haze clear and his eyes have focused, he finds Keith kneeling in front of him on the floor of the shuttle, his face pale but determined.

“D-don’t—” Shiro tries, but Keith cuts him off.

“I’m not going to stop touching you, Shiro. You’re not dangerous.”

Shiro frowns at him. He has no idea, he wasn’t—

Some tiny part of him whispers that Hunk’s earpiece had been lighting up in the dark, flickering red every time Keith spoke to him. It was Keith, Keith that told Hunk how to bring him back.

Tears swim over Shiro’s eyes again, but he’s too tired to fight them.

“You’re. Not. Dangerous.” Keith moves closer, his hands sliding up to Shiro’s. “I trust you, Shiro. I know you. You’re Takashi Shirogane, you’re my best friend, and you’ve had a shit couple of years.” Shiro opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. He can’t find his words. “You were on a mission for Matt Holt, and you found something in the live game wing. You had a flashback. That’s all.”

“That’s—” Shiro frowns, balling his hands into tight fists. “Keith, I almost _killed_ him—”

“That’s not true,” comes a soft voice from his left. Shiro looks over and finds Hunk still in his personal space, his face streaked with dry tears, and with blood, but Shiro dimly recognizes all of his injuries from when the team had first been separated. No new ones. Hunk reaches up and soothes his thumb over Shiro’s cheek, the contact slow and gentle. “You didn’t even come close, Shiro. Trust me, I know near-death experiences when I see them. This wasn’t one.”

Shiro’s face crumples, and he lets his head fall again, tears slipping down the bridge of his nose. “I-I—”

“You had a flashback,” Keith says firmly, leaning his forehead against Shiro’s. 

“You pushed me down, Shiro, that’s it.” Hunk pauses thoughtfully. “Okay, and you might have also punched a hole in the blast door—”

“ _Hunk,_ ” someone hisses from his other side, and it takes Shiro a second to realize it’s Lance.

“I’m not gonna _lie_ to him, that’s not helpful,” Hunk protests. His hand is still lingering on the small of Shiro’s hunched back. “He activated his hand and slammed it into the door, but I really don’t think he was aiming at me. He just... thought I was something else.”

“I-I’m sorry,” Shiro whispers, his voice rough and broken. “I’m so sorry—”

“Shiro,” Keith interrupts, squeezing Shiro’s hands tightly. “We’re okay. All of us are okay.”

“We’re almost back to the ship,” Lance says softly. He reaches over, making sure Shiro can see his hand moving, then reaches up and starts gently petting the back of his head. “We’re safe now, all of us. We’re safe with you.”

Unable to find any more words, Shiro just squeezes his eyes shut and shakes. 

His friends all move closer to him, as if to prove that they have nothing to fear. Beside him, Hunk wraps his arm around Shiro’s shoulders and presses his lips against the top of his head, and he doesn’t move again for the rest of the ride back.

\--

Keith, Pidge, and Lance had had much better luck in their wing. Not only were the lights mostly still on, but that wing housed all the weapon vendors, with no live monsters anywhere in sight. Well, no monsters that weren’t trying to sell them stuff even as they grappled with each other. 

They’d found three of the people they’d set out to extract, too, but the fourth is still unaccounted for. When Shiro asks Matt for better pictures of his people, he notices a shiny metal bracelet on one of their wrists, and even though forcing himself to remember that severed arm almost makes him puke, he manages to tell Matt not to send anyone back for them.

Shiro can’t bring himself to ask the other paladins to stay near him, but he can’t stand the thought of being alone with himself either. He apparently doesn’t have to worry, though; Hunk is still trailing after him, still offering him careful physical contact, still determined to look after him.

“I’m not going away until you tell me to,” he’d said defiantly, and Shiro couldn’t bring himself to say anything at all.

While they’re showering and washing the grime and the panic off of themselves, Hunk hums to himself, and his smooth voice fills up the room along with the steam, leaving nowhere for Shiro’s demons to hide. He lets Hunk look after his injuries, too, cleaning and bandaging the cuts and scrapes, checking the insides of his ear for any damage that might need a closer look. It’s a little muffled, but Shiro can still hear out of the ear that had been bleeding, so Hunk seems satisfied. 

Shiro kind of feels like his skull is empty. He usually does after panic attacks, although this was something a few shades more severe. It’s hard to think, hard to notice anything in his environment, but Hunk is right there, and that’s enough to keep him from drifting away.

That evening, Matt swings by to check on him.

“Hey, big guy,” he sighs as he collapses beside him on the couch, giving him a friendly nudge with his shoulder. “How you holding up?”

Shiro blinks slowly, and it takes him way too long to reply, “Like shit.” Matt barks a laugh at that, and on Shiro’s other side, Hunk snorts and shakes his head. Shiro turns toward Matt, though, and weakly hooks his fingers in his sleeve. “You were right.”

Matt sobers up pretty quick, his expression grim. “I’m sorry, Shiro.”

Frowning slightly, Shiro forces the fog to part a little. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” Matt repeats matter-of-factly. “I should have stolen your pants or something. I would say tied you to a chair, but I don’t think either of us would have liked that too much.” Hunk tenses beside him, unused to hearing someone joke so casually about something so serious. It’s just how Matt is, though, so Shiro just shakes his head. 

“I should have listened,” he says eventually. 

“Yeah, but you’re stubborn as an ox,” Matt replies, a smile making its way back across his face. “It’s one of the things I love about you, but man, it sure does backfire sometimes.” Shiro just nods and lets his hand drop again. Matt gives him a good pat on the thigh, then turns to Hunk. “You a barnacle now or something?”

Hunk just points to himself and blinks, then when Matt nods, gives a long sigh. “I’m just nosy, man. Wanna make sure he’s okay.”

Matt’s gaze softens. “That’s not nosy.”

“Ask Pidge why she keeps having to develop new encryption languages for her journals,” Hunk says dryly. Matt snickers again, which brings a sheepish grin to Hunk’s face. He lets it go, though, and Hunk seems relieved for it.

Turning back to Shiro, Matt rests a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I can’t thank you enough for this, Shiro.” Shiro stares at him, but Matt isn’t really expecting him to reply right now, so he doesn’t try. “Thanks to you and your team, I got most of my people back. I don’t know how I could ever make it up to you.”

Shiro hums roughly. “Next time, just tie me to the damn chair.”

Matt laughs at that, long and loud, and Hunk cracks a smile too, and between them, Shiro starts to feel just a little more human.

“Okay, I have to get back to base,” Matt sighs then, standing up with a groan. “Fuck, I’m getting old. I’ll check back in a few days, okay?” Hunk and Shiro both nod, albeit Shiro more sluggishly, and with that, Matt leaves.

Once they’re alone again, Shiro blinks over at Hunk, who’s taken to fiddling with the same weird Altean puzzle Keith had been playing with. He watches him for a while, his expression so focused, his tongue poking out slightly. He’s still sitting so close, too, so close that their knees are touching.

“Where’s Lance?” Shiro asks eventually, his voice cracking. Hunk glances over at him, then frowns thoughtfully.

“Not sure, actually. He might be trying to cram Keith into a healing pod. I guess he whacked his skull pretty good on the blast door, but he conveniently doesn’t remember anything of the sort.” Hunks snorts and shakes his head, then turns to Shiro again. “Why do you ask?”

Shiro shrugs, his gaze falling back to the puzzle. “Thought you’d go to him instead.”

Hunk looks at him for a long second without saying anything, his thumb idly sliding one of the toy’s colorful squares back and forth. His voice is soft when he finally answers him, almost too soft for Shiro to hear. “I told you, I’m not leaving until you tell me to.” He hesitates, then turns to face Shiro on the couch, setting the toy aside. “I want you to see that I’m still here,” he continues. “Honestly, I don’t think you want me to leave either.”

As much as he’d like to deny it, Shiro can’t. He feels like he’s underwater, everything slow and muffled, but he knows that if Hunk left him alone right now, some terrible part of his brain might try to convince him that he’d actually hurt him. 

Maybe even killed him.

Shiro shudders and frowns at his lap. Beside him, Hunk moves even closer and slides his arm around his shoulders, tugging him over so he can lean his forehead against Shiro’s temple.

He doesn’t say anything, and Shiro can’t remember any more words, so he doesn’t either. He just lets Hunk hold onto him, lets him see just how alive he is, how uninjured he is.

How much he isn’t afraid of him.

Shiro can’t even pretend he deserves this, but every part of him is screaming to keep holding on, so he holds on.

\--

After a few long days, things start going back to normal. Coran had hidden them in some nebula somewhere for a while to give them a break, and every one of the paladins is grateful for it. 

When he’s thinking more clearly, when his brain isn’t just a long series of vacant, directionless sparks, he pulls Hunk aside and apologizes to him more lucidly. 

Hunk lets him say his piece, then pulls him into a tight hug, and when he whispers his reply to him, his voice brushes past Shiro’s good ear, sending warmth flooding through his chest and loosening some of the knots tying him too tightly together.

“I already forgave you, Shiro.”

That alone is more than Shiro could ask for, and more than he deserves, but when Hunk pulls away, he brings his hands to Shiro’s cheeks and pulls his face close enough that Hunk can press a sweet, gentle kiss to his forehead.

Hunk shuffles back to his work pretty quickly, his ears bright red, and days later, Shiro swears he can still feel Hunk’s soft lips against his skin.


	6. Chapter 6

After that point, even weeks later, Lance is even more physical with Shiro. Hunk is, too. Neither of them hesitate to touch his arm when they’re talking to him, or to rest a casual arm around his shoulders.

Sometimes, during breakfast, when they’re all still yawning and clumsy from sleep, Hunk will press himself against Shiro’s back to reach past him for something, and even when he starts pulling away, he lets his hand rest against the small of Shiro’s back for a second longer, warm and familiar.

At night, Lance will seek him out before he goes to sleep just to talk with him, to share a joke with him or tell him about something cool he did in training, and when they’re laughing together, Lance will lean into him, using Shiro’s chest to prop himself up while he catches his breath.

It’s making Shiro fucking crazy.

Lance and Hunk are still the same with each other, still overly familiar and willing to show each other their affection in common spaces. If anything, they’ve gotten even more blatant about it; Shiro finds himself walking in on them more and more frequently, clinging to each other and kissing far too deeply to be appropriate in places other people walk through. 

He doesn’t say anything, though. He just turns around and leaves again, his face bright red, hoping against hope that they hadn’t seen him.

One afternoon, he’s helping Hunk with something in his workshop, chatting comfortably with him when Lance bounces into the room and right into Hunk’s lap. He pulls him into a wet, intimate kiss, humming happily against his lips when Hunk tugs him closer. When they separate, they’re both just a little out of breath, and Lance throws him a wide, crooked grin and chirps, “Oh, hey Shiro. How’s it hanging?”

While the honest answer would probably be ‘full mast,’ Shiro just gives him a strained smile and stands. “I’m gonna, uh. Meeting with the princess,” he says lamely, backing away from them. 

Lance pokes his lower lip out at him, but Hunk smiles softly and leans away just long enough to say, “Thanks again for your help, Shiro.”

“Yup, any time.” Shiro gives them the world’s most awkward wave, then flees the room.

Before he can really make a getaway down the hall, though, he basically trips over Keith, who had been leaned against the wall next to the door, arms crossed.

“Jesus, Keith,” Shiro splutters.

The stern look Keith gives him takes him aback, leaving him rubbing the back of his head in confusion.

“Shiro, you’re probably the smartest person I’ve ever met,” Keith says levelly, “But I think you might be a giant dumbass.”

Shiro gapes at him, then pouts. “Wow, tell me how you really feel.” He crosses his arms and tilts his head suspiciously. “What did I do?”

Keith shakes his head, then leans off the wall and starts down the hall toward the kitchen. “I’d tell you, but you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Hey,” Shiro calls feebly, but all he can really do is watch Keith leave. He hears Lance and Hunk snickering in the workshop, and a tiny part of him wants to look back in there, to see them wound around each other, laughing together. 

The rest of him just steels his jaw, then forces him to walk away.

\--

Shiro’s starting to feel like everyone on the ship knows something he doesn’t, and it’s driving him crazy.

Well, that’s not entirely true. Some tiny part of him knows what’s going on. He’s not _that_ oblivious. It’s just that it’s too much to hope for, too much to let himself read into, and spending a year in the arena had taught him too well how to crush the life out of any hope he might find too far from his reach.

So, he ignores it, and he tries to go about his life.

‘Tries’ being the operative word.

Between Lance’s relentless flirting, Hunk’s lingering stares and pretty smiles, Keith’s eye-rolling, and Black’s growing exasperation, Shiro’s hard-pressed to have a normal fucking day on this ship.

Matt is almost worse than all of them. Every time he comes on board to pester his sister and whoever else crosses his path, he takes every opportunity he can get to try and subtly tell Shiro that he’s too hard on himself, that he needs to relax, to let himself breathe once in a while. That he’s too high-strung.

Like Shiro doesn’t fucking know that already.

It reaches a fever pitch one day when Matt is casually asking him where Hunk and Lance are, how they’re doing, his gaze almost painfully insistent. Shiro stands up from the couch and wraps a firm hand around Matt’s bicep, then yanks him out of the room, pointedly ignoring the way Pidge and Keith are both staring after them, unimpressed.

He pulls him into the kitchen, and once he’s checked that the coast is clear, turns on his friend. Matt, unfortunately, is the spitting image of Pidge’s unimpressed face, leaning casually against the counter.

“You have to stop,” Shiro says firmly. He does his best to loom, to try and use his size to get his point across, but that stopped working on Matt by their second year together.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Matt replies placidly. 

“The hell you don’t.” Shiro rakes his hand through his hair, turning to glance once more around the kitchen, just to make sure they’re alone. “You giving me shit is getting really old.”

“I’m not giving you shit,” Matt says. He leans off the counter and moves back into Shiro’s space, and he’s actually started to look angry. “I know you’re not this fucking dumb, Shirogane. I know you see what’s going on, you’re just—I don’t know, punishing yourself or something.”

Shiro all but snarls at him, his hands clenched into fists, but Matt still doesn’t back down. “Let it _go,_ Holt.”

“Oh, don’t _Holt_ me,” Matt spits, jabbing a stern finger into Shiro’s chest. “I just don’t understand why you’re doing this to yourself, after everything you’ve—”

“Do not finish that sentence,” Shiro seethes, and thankfully, Matt listens, albeit with a deep frown. “Don’t talk about it like I’ve _earned_ something.”

Matt scoffs, throwing his hands up. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” He sighs and runs his hands through his hair. “Shiro, come on, man. You want what they want. I know you do.”

Shiro glowers at him, but the anger is starting to drain him, to suck the wind out of his sails. “They haven’t said anything,” he protests, and although it’s the thought that’s been keeping his head above water, it sounds pretty damn weak now that he’s said it out loud.

Predictably, Matt gives him an incredulous stare. “Shiro, _seriously?”_

“Yes, Matt.” Shiro bristles again, but he has to turn away from this conversation. He’s starting to feel uncomfortably vulnerable. “Just let it go,” he mumbles. “It’s better this way.”

“I genuinely do not see how.” 

Shiro feels Matt coming up behind him, but the way he tenses doesn’t dissuade Matt from putting a hand on his shoulder and turning him back around. He grips Shiro’s shoulders and shakes him slightly, almost as if hoping to knock some sense loose in his friend. Shiro’s problem, though, is that he’s always had a little too much sense for his own good. 

“What do I have to do to get you to drop it?”

Matt frowns at him, then crosses his arms. “Why don’t _you_ talk to them?”

“Nope,” Shiro replies immediately, almost before the suggestion has left Matt’s mouth. He crosses his arms and turns away, mumbling, “I don’t understand why you can’t see my side of things.”

Squinting thoughtfully, Matt mirrors Shiro’s posture, doing him the courtesy of giving it a good, long pondering. 

“Is it because they’re already together?” Shiro frowns and looks further away, which is more than enough of an answer for Matt. “And you’re thinking you’d be intruding,” he continues, no longer asking. “Even though they’re basically spelling your name out in lights.”

“How would you feel?” Shiro asks quietly. He hates how pathetic he’s starting to sound. “Put yourself in my shoes, Matt. Think about it, then tell me again that all I have to do is _talk_ to them.”

Matt doesn’t respond to that. Instead, he just keeps staring at Shiro, drumming his fingers on his hip in the way he does when he knows he’s losing. 

The sound of someone awkwardly clearing their throat jolts them both apart, looking equally awkwardly at the door, where Pidge is giving them both a critical stare. Shiro wants to ask how long she’s been there, but he’s been caught red-handed as it is, and it’s taking all of his self-control to not walk right out of the room and enter hiding.

Pidge squints at him a moment longer, then says, “Sorry to interrupt whatever weird shit this is, but can I borrow my brother?” Shiro can feel his eyes bugging out in terror. “I just need his opinion on this code, don’t get your panties in a twist.”

“Sure, Pigeon,” Matt mumbles. He gives Shiro a furtive glance. “I think we were done here, anyway.”

“Were you? Because I’m pretty sure I just walked in on you losing.”

Matt grimaces at her, then slouches over to her, leaning his weight on her just to be a pain. “How cruel,” he warbles dramatically. She groans and tries to push him off, so he just leans harder. “My only sister witnessing my downfall, then dealing the finishing blow? How do I come back from this? Matt Holt never loses!”

“Yeah, okay, whatever Shakespeare, can we go now?” She ducks out from under him and leaves the room, and once he’s steadied himself again, Matt glances back at Shiro, his expression serious again. He doesn’t say anything, though, nor does he try to get the last word in.

He just leaves Shiro alone in the kitchen, feeling too much like Matt’s not the only one who lost that fight.

\--

For the next few days, Shiro finds himself living in constant fear. Not only had he admitted to Matt that he knows Lance and Hunk want something from him, but Pidge had no doubt overheard far too much, and it’s only a matter of time before one of them says something.

When he’s not directing training, putting on his best stoic face to discourage any nonsense, or going out on whatever errands he can weasel out of Allura, Shiro spends a lot of his time running. 

Keith notices. Of course he does. He doesn’t say anything, though. He just stops by the empty residential deck from time to time, bringing him food and a few water packs, and leaving with a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. Shiro’s mostly grateful for it, but after a while, he starts getting a little lonely. 

Strangely, the entire time he’s avoiding Lance and Hunk, they seem to be avoiding him too.

It’s not quite rejection, but his brain is more than willing to latch onto it, then send it flying through his skull every time he lets his mind wander even vaguely in their direction. It sucks, honestly, and it depresses him more than a little, but in the long run, it’s probably best for everyone.

\--

A week after his fight with Matt, Shiro is back in the kitchen late at night, helping himself to some midnight food goo. He’s exhausted, but sleep hasn’t come easily to him in years, and every once in a while a man just has to eat his feelings.

“Hey, Shiro?”

The voice from behind him makes Shiro jump and choke slightly, and when he turns to the door, Hunk is wincing sympathetically. “Sorry,” he mumbles, his fingers twisting nervously in front of him. 

Shiro clears his throat a few times, giving himself probably too much time to recover. Once he has, he gestures to the seat beside him, trying not to look as nervous as he feels when Hunk sits down. “No problem. What’s up?”

“I, uh.” Hunk clears his throat too, lacing his fingers on the table. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Oh god. Shiro resists the urge to fake his own death. “Um, sure. What about?”

Hunks sighs then, dragging his hands slowly through his hair as he gathers his thoughts. He seems nervous, sure, but also a little sad, and a little like he hasn’t been sleeping too well either. After a long moment, though, he turns his chair toward Shiro, his expression already imploring. His hand inches across the table, too, but when Shiro’s own hand twitches, Hunk pauses, biting his lip.

“Look, there’s no good way to say this,” he says finally. “But I know you’ve been avoiding me. Lance too.”

Shiro can feel the color draining from his face, but he doesn’t try to deny it. He just keeps a straight face as best he can.

With another long sigh, Hunk tilts his head and glances Shiro over. He steels himself, though, and scoots his chair closer to Shiro’s, then gets right to his point.

“I need you to tell me if I’m reading this wrong.”

It occurs to Shiro that he’s been holding his breath, and it’s starting to make him a little light-headed. Or maybe it’s just this whole situation. It’s hard to tell. He swallows heavily, but before he can even try to come up with an appropriate response, Hunk is scooting closer, and then his hand is covering Shiro’s on the table, his fingers warm and gentle as they curl around his palm.

Shiro glances around nervously, but they’re alone, and the ship is eerily quiet.

“Where’s Lance?”

“He’s asleep right now. It’s just me.”

Shiro’s attention snaps back to Hunk at that, and he tries not to let the building feeling of dread overwhelm him. “Lance... doesn’t know you’re here?”

Hunk shakes his head. “I was still trying to figure stuff out when he went to bed. Beauty sleep, and all that.”

This can’t be right.

Shiro straightens up and pulls his hand away. “Hunk,” he says sternly, his voice low and hopefully not as flayed-open as he feels. “Don’t.”

Hurt flashes across Hunk’s face, but it seems like he might have prepared himself for this, because he stands firm. “Why not?”

“Don’t do this to Lance,” Shiro breathes, pulling back from Hunk a little.

Hunk’s brow furrows in confusion, but he lets Shiro recoil. “Don’t do _what_ to Lance? You don’t—” His eyes widen suddenly. “You don’t think I’m here behind his back, do you?” Shiro doesn’t have to respond to that. Hunk shakes his head quickly, then seems to realize that he’s pushing too hard right now, because he backs away again, shrinking back into his own space. “Shiro, no. It’s not like that.”

Shiro can’t help but feel a little relieved. Only a little, though. 

Swallowing heavily, Hunk fidgets with Shiro’s abandoned spoon, desperate for something to do with his hands. 

“It’s not like that,” he repeats softly. “It’s just—we’ve been trying to figure out how to talk to you for days, man. I just couldn’t sleep, and it seemed like a good idea at the time.” Hunk glances up at him through his eyelashes. “I guess I can see how it looks, but I think if I leave now, I’m gonna fuck things up pretty bad.”

Rather than respond to that, Shiro stands quickly, then grabs his plate and moves to wash it off. He can practically feel the way Hunk is staring after him, but he needed to move. 

“Okay,” Hunk says as he stands up from the table. He moves slowly, not trying to spook Shiro, but he’s still coming closer. “Okay, I’m sorry. I should’ve—I dunno. I don’t have any good explanations. This was a terrible idea.” Shiro tries not to read too hard into that. He can’t wash this plate any more, though, so he sets it aside, then turns to face Hunk, crossing his arms in an attempt to look like he’s not an inch away from losing his shit.

Hunk flinches. Shiro wants to feel bad, but if he lets up even a little, he doesn’t know how far he’ll slip down this slope.

“Wow, yeah, I forgot how intimidating you can be when you want to. It’s kinda scary.” Hunk pauses thoughtfully. “But also kinda hot.”

Shiro flushes dark, his frown deepening. “Hunk, you should go to bed.”

“No, I really don’t think I should.” Hunk swallows again, then steps closer, coming dangerously close to being back in Shiro’s space. “I’m sorry, Shiro. I went about this all wrong. But I’ve already opened this can of worms now, so...”

Hunk sighs and rubs the back of his neck, his gaze falling to the floor between them. He looks so defeated, Shiro almost wants to comfort him. He almost does, too, his expression softening, but before he can do anything, Hunk looks back up at him, his face more determined than Shiro has seen in some time.

“We need Lance.”

Shiro blinks widely, then starts sweating a little. “He’s asleep.”

“Yeah, well, he can be not asleep.”

“No, nono, no.” Shiro shakes his head quickly. “If we wake him up in the middle of the night, he’s gonna kill us both.” He breathes a put-upon sigh, but he’s weakening, and both of them know it. “What if I just promise not to avoid you? We can talk about—about whatever tomorrow.”

“Nope,” Hunk replies firmly. “I’ve been trying to get you alone for ages, Shiro. We’re doing this. He’s just gonna have to deal.”

“I think it’s _us_ that’ll have to deal,” Shiro mumbles. 

Hunk shrugs, then grabs Shiro’s wrist, and before he can think of a good reason not to go, Hunk is dragging him through the ship, then into his and Lance’s room.

“Okay,” he whispers, like Lance could ever hear them through Pidge’s enormous headphones. “Just don’t make any sudden movements.”

“Hunk, we really don’t have to do this right now.”

Leveling Shiro with an unimpressed look, Hunk shifts Shiro further into the room, then closes the door behind them. 

The loud, anxious part of him reminds him that he could easily make a run for it.

The tired, lonely, desperately in love part of him speaks up finally, and tells the other part to shut the fuck up.

Hunk creeps over to the bed and kneels beside it, running a gentle hand over Lance’s flat stomach. He nudges one of his earphones off with the other, then leans in and whispers, “Hey, babe, wake up.”

Predictably, Lance doesn’t move. He tends to sleep like the dead. 

Shiro crosses his arms over his chest and tries not to squirm.

“Lance,” Hunk tries again, a little more urgently. “Dude, come on, it’s important.”

Lance stirs and groans, and Shiro and Hunk both freeze. When Lance speaks, his voice is low and rough with sleep, and for some stupid-ass reason, Shiro finds it unbearably adorable. 

“How important.”

Hunk glances at Shiro out of the corner of his eye. “Like, it’s the middle of the night but I found Shiro and now he’s standing in our room important.”

There’s a long pause.

Lance bolts upright with a squawk and rips his eye mask off, his headphones falling down around his neck. He stares at Hunk, then up at Shiro, his eyes widening further. Shiro gives him a short wave, then feels incredibly dorky about it.

“Oh dude,” Lance breathes. “Is it Christmas?”

“No idea, actually.”

“Okay, okay.” Lance swings his legs out of the bed and stands, tying his robe tighter around his waist. “We’re not having this discussion with me in a face mask. That’s not nearly cute enough.”

“Oh my god, Lance,” Hunk groans, but Lance ducks around him and bolts out into the hallway, likely heading for the bathroom.

Hunk sighs at length, then pulls himself up onto the bed and folds his hands in his lap, starting to look about as awkward as Shiro feels. A few too-long seconds tick by where they don’t look at each other before Hunk blurts, “Dude, you’re making me nervous, please sit down.”

Shiro glances around the room. No chairs, of course. Nothing but the bed. 

Before he can try to sit on the floor, Hunk makes a scolding sound, then scoots over and points at the bed. Shiro tries to give him a pleading look, but Hunk stands firm, so Shiro sighs and moves closer, then perches himself stiffly on the very edge of the bed, as far down as he can get. Hunk makes a face at him, but doesn’t comment.

They’ve been sitting like this for what feels like an eternity when Lance comes back in, looking fresh and only a little bit nervous. He stops when he sees Shiro perched on their bed, then frowns at Hunk. “What did you _do_ to him?”

“It’s not just me!” Shiro turns and makes a face at Hunk, who just groans. “Okay, it was me, but I swear I didn’t _mean_ it. I just, um. Made an impulsive decision.”

Lance throws his hands up in disgust, and Hunk grins sheepishly, scratching his cheek. “Dude, come _on,_ we talked about this. No spooking Shiro. We’re not trying to scare him off more than we usually do.”

Shiro blinks between them. “You... talked about this?”

“Um, duh,” Hunk says, leaning closer to him. “What do you think we’ve been doing the last few days?”

Lance sighs and comes to sit heavily between them. “We were _trying_ to figure out how to approach you without you bolting again, but you were either busy or we just couldn’t find you. By the way, this ship is _way_ bigger than it looks.”

Shiro laughs quietly, rubbing the back of his neck when Lance and Hunk both stop and stare at him.

“Well, here I am, I guess,” he mumbles, his eyes not moving from the floor. 

“Yeah,” Lance says, turning to give Hunk a dirty look. “In the middle of the night, with no warning whatsoever.”

“I mean, in my defense,” Hunk pleads, “I did warn him. After I’d, uh, already cornered him in the kitchen.”

Lance sighs, then leans back on his hands. “As sexy as that sounds, that’s not how you ease someone into something, _Hunk._ ” Hunk mumbles something vaguely apologetic, but Lance is already looking back over at Shiro. “Well, you probably know what we wanted to talk about, right?”

Shiro tenses at that. Their bickering had almost lulled him into feeling comfortable. Almost. He looks at Lance out of the corner of his eye, then gives a tight nod.

“Hey, Shiro,” Lance murmurs, his expression concerned as he leans closer. “Is this really okay with you? If we’re making you uncomfortable, just say so. We just—we just wanted to make sure we weren’t imagining things, you know?”

Breathing a long sigh, Shiro leans his elbows on his knees and drags a hand through his hair. He mulls that over for another long second, then decides to just come clean and get it over with.

“You’re not imagining things.”

Lance and Hunk both perk up, but stay quiet. Shiro doesn’t know if that’s better or worse.

“Look, I’m—” Shiro groans, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I’m sorry. I know this must be weird. I didn’t want you to find out, but I’m guessing one of the Holts said something.”

Surprisingly, Lance laughs at that. Shiro turns to stare at him.

“That would have been a lot less weird,” Lance snorts. “It was actually Keith.” Shiro just continues staring. He can’t even begin to imagine how that conversation might have gone. Lance shrugs, then continues, “You know, I _thought_ Matt and Pidge were acting weird lately. They were wandering around looking like they had a frog stuck in their mouths or something.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow. Matt always did make a weird face when he was struggling with something, it makes sense that Pidge would too.

“But yeah,” Lance sighs, “It was Keith. He looked like he was dying when he said it, which I assume is because he’s a freaking alien and doesn’t know how to talk about personal stuff. D’you think it’s a Galra thing?”

Breathing a quiet laugh, Shiro thinks about it for a second, rubbing the back of his neck. It’s not like he’d gone out of his way to learn Galra social patterns, but he’s pretty sure of what he does know. “No,” he says after a minute. “I’m pretty sure that’s just a Keith thing.”

Lance hums at that, then shakes his head and sits up. “Okay, well, enough about him. He basically told us to stop fucking around and just be direct with you.” He pauses, then fidgets sheepishly with the hem of his robe. “I guess we probably should have done that to begin with, huh.”

Hunk cuts in at that. “Dude, if we had tried to talk to him when we first started messing with him, he would have run away screaming.”

Shiro snorts, but he can’t exactly deny it. Hell, he’s still fighting the urge to run.

The longer he stays here, though, sitting on their bed in the dark, the more that urge starts to settle, for the first time in far too long. 

“Well, whatever,” Lance mumbles. “You’re here now, and you’re not running.”

“No, I’m not.”

Lance hesitates, then scoots closer to Shiro, his movement far more careful than usual. “Shiro,” he says softly, leaning into his space. “Are—are you picking up what we’re putting down?”

Shiro just stares at him, watching him slowly turn more and more red. Beside him, Hunk buries his face in his hands and groans. 

Shiro starts laughing, though, and the feeling lifts a heavy, heavy weight off his chest, even with the way Hunk and Lance are both shifting awkwardly. ‘We need Lance’ had seemed like the obvious solution at the time, but apparently Hunk and Shiro both had overestimated Lance’s capacity for smoothness this late at night.

“Look,” Shiro finally manages, biting his lip around more laughter. He centers himself after a moment, lacing his fingers in his lap. “I know you guys have been flirting with me.” He pauses again. He’d been so caught up in his own feelings, he hadn’t even stopped to think about what their intentions might be. The realization that they might not actually be on the same page washes over him like a bucket of ice.

As if sensing his concern, Lance reaches over and gently rests his hand on Shiro’s forearm. He soothes his thumb over his skin, like Shiro had done for him that night so long ago. 

“Yeah, we have,” he murmurs. “Shiro, I don’t know if you know this, but you’re like. Actually blindingly gorgeous.”

Shiro rubs the back of his neck and hums awkwardly, desperately trying to fight the sinking feeling coming over him. Hunk clears his throat, though, and moves to kneel in front of him, apparently tired of having to crane his neck around Lance to see. He reaches out and takes one of Shiro’s hands in his, squeezing gently.

“What our well-meaning but inept friend is trying to say—” Lance gives an offended squeak. “Is that we like you, Shiro.” Shiro blinks, trying not to look as uncertain as he feels. “Like, in the gay way.”

“Wow, and you call _me_ inept.” Lance huffs and crosses his arms. “I can’t believe we didn’t even practice this, dude, this is such a disaster.”

“Could be worse,” Shiro mumbles. Hunk and Lance both blink at him, and a wide, relieved smile spreads across Hunk’s face.

“Could be better, too,” he replies, but he seems encouraged by Shiro speaking up. “But it’s all we’ve got, so.”

Shiro shrugs, glancing between them. He needs to hear what they’re after, though. That had been his whole point, the whole reason he was so tied in knots over them flirting with him. “What exactly do you want from me?”

“Do you want it alphabetically or— _ow,_ Hunk, shit—”

Hunk gives him a withering look, then turns back to Shiro with a sheepish smile. “If you’re into it,” he says, his voice so soft it makes Shiro want to melt, “We think you’d be a pretty awesome boyfriend. To both of us.” Hunk pauses, slipping his thumb over Shiro’s knuckles thoughtfully. “And if you’ll put up with us, I’d—I’d like the chance to make you laugh some more.” Hunk rubs the back of his head, sheepishly averting his gaze. “You look _really_ pretty when you do.”

“We make him laugh already,” Lance interrupts dryly. Hunk shrugs, conceding defeat.

Neither of them say anything else, though, choosing instead to fidget nervously and wait.

“So you want to date me,” Shiro says slowly. He glances between them, watching for their reactions. “Both of you.”

They both nod, their expressions adorably hopeful. 

He thinks for a long moment, watching Hunk’s thumb trace slow circles over his skin, watching Lance’s leg bounce slightly, more out of nervousness than impatience.

“It... it wouldn’t be easy,” he mumbles. He tries not to feels miserable about it, but he needs to warn them. “I—I space out a lot, and I don’t sleep very well, and sometimes I—” He glances down at Hunk, his face paling.

“Hey,” Hunk interrupts, reaching up and pressing his warm palm against Shiro’s cheek. It takes all the self-control he has to not nuzzle into the touch. “I already forgave you for that, remember?”

“It’s going to happen again,” Shiro says, hating how tiny he sounds, how afraid. “As long as we’re fighting this war, there’s always a chance.”

“Well, we already know what do if it does,” Hunk says. He drags his thumb along Shiro’s cheekbone, his expression so sweet, so earnest. Beside him, Lance nods, squeezing Shiro’s forearm soothingly. 

“I could hurt you.”

Lance sighs and leans his cheek against Shiro’s shoulder, budging right up against his side. “How about we cross that bridge when we come to it, huh?” He turns to look up at Shiro through his eyelashes. 

Shiro sighs, then nods. Another thought occurs to him, this one much more embarrassing. He scratches his ear awkwardly, staring at a spot on the wall and flushing dark. “It’s... not just that.”

“What else, then?” Hunk asks gently, shifting his hand in Shiro’s so he can lace their fingers loosely, which honestly just flusters Shiro more. 

“I don’t—” Shiro groans, dragging a hand down his face. “I don’t have much experience. Romantically. Let alone with—with two people.”

Hunk nods at that, but Lance is sitting up again, squinting at him. He leans further into Shiro’s space and asks, “Shiro, have you dated anyone before?”

Shiro just swallows nervously. Hunk’s smile goes a little strained, and he’s looking at Shiro, but speaking to Lance when he says, “Don’t you dare, Lance.”

“Dude—”

_“No, Lance.”_

“Hunk, I’m just—”

“I swear to god, dude,” Hunk grumbles, turning his stern gaze on Lance. “I love you, but I will banish you back to your room. Indefinitely.”

Lance huffs and crosses his arms, but he lets whatever it was drop. Shiro has a sneaking suspicion that Lance was about to grill him about his virginity, and while he knows there’s no shame in it, he thinks that if he has to admit that to them right now when he’s still emotional and vulnerable, he might just curl up and die. He squeezes Hunk’s hand gratefully, earning himself a much softer smile. 

“It’s okay that you’re not experienced,” Hunk murmurs. “We’ll be patient with you.” He brings Shiro’s hand to his lips and brushes a light kiss across his knuckles, then says, “Anything else you’re worried about?”

Shiro hums thoughtfully. He’d brought up his baggage, and his potential ineptitude. If there’s anything else, he can’t think of it right now.

There’s always later, though. They’ll be there later if he needs to tell them anything. He thinks harder, looking for any other excuse to not give in and let himself—and them—have this.

The part of Shiro that tells him to run, that screams not to get his hopes up stays dead silent.

“Okay,” he says finally.

Lance and Hunk perk up at that, both of them grinning at him, more excited than he’s seen them in some time. He flushes, but gives them a shy, crooked smile in return.

With a loud, happy laugh, Lance throws his arms around Shiro’s shoulders and hugs him tightly, leaning up and pressing a noisy kiss to his cheek. Shiro blushes a little at that, but he wraps his arm around Lance’s waist and tugs him closer, letting himself crave his proximity.

“Okay, okay,” Hunk says, pulling himself to his feet. He runs a gentle hand through Shiro’s forelock, humming contently, then bites his lip thoughtfully. “I know it’s probably moving kinda fast—”

“Oh, _now_ who’s starting—”

“ _But,_ ” Hunk interrupts loudly. “D’you think you could sleep here tonight?” Shiro blinks widely at him, and Hunk flushes darker. Shyness is pretty adorable on him. “I just—I don’t want to wake up and think I dreamed all this, you know? And I don’t want that for you either.”

He brings up a good point. Shiro wakes up disoriented and uncertain of everything under every sun pretty frequently. He rubs the back of his neck, then glances around Lance at the bed.

“We’ll fit,” Lance assures him, pressing a hand to his cheek and guiding Shiro into looking at him again. “I’ll sleep on Hunk if I have to. Or just roll him onto the floor, he sleeps like a log.”

“Wow, rude,” Hunk snorts, reaching over to tug on Lance’s ear. Lance just sticks his tongue out at him.

“I should be the one on the floor, if anything,” Shiro mumbles. He grimaces slightly, but before he can explain himself, Hunk is gently petting him again.

“I know you have nightmares, man,” he murmurs. “That’s not enough to put me off. Like Lance said, we can cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Shiro nods sheepishly, then clears his throat. “Then, um. Yeah. Sure.”

Hunk grins at him before leaning down and pressing his lips to the top of his head, his short nails scratching soothingly through Shiro’s undercut. “You can borrow some of my pajamas, if you want. They’ll fit you.”

“Or,” Lance says, a terrible, crooked grin on his face. “You could just sleep n—”

_“Lance.”_

Lance leans back dramatically, lacing his fingers over the back of Shiro’s neck to keep himself from falling over. “Hunk, you’re totally cramping my style.”

Shiro laughs at that, and it feels good enough that he has trouble stopping. Hunk and Lance just grin at him, though, their affection coming through loud and clear, and for once, Shiro lets himself enjoy the attention.

He does end up borrowing some of Hunk’s clothes. Lance goes back to the bathroom to put on another face mask. New boyfriend or not, he has a routine to uphold. While he’s gone, Hunk does Shiro the courtesy of turning around while he changes, but Shiro’s not entirely sure he’d mind having his eyes on him.

That’s for another day, though.

For now, they pile together on the bed, and although it takes a while, unused to sleeping in such close proximity with another person, let alone two, Shiro falls asleep warm and comfortable, lulled by the way Hunk’s fingers feel tracing slow shapes over the nape of his neck.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's long as hell because i didn't want to split up the smut segments

As afraid as he’d been, as many terrible scenarios as his restless mind had come up with for why this was a bad idea, things are going well.

Shiro doesn’t find himself distracted by them. When they’re on missions, Hunk and Lance follow his orders without question, the same as they always have. They trust him to lead, and they trust him to listen to them when they’re unsure, or when a better idea comes up.

No one accuses him of playing favorites, either. He’s just as likely as before to disagree with them when they need to be disagreed with, and he’s just as likely to compliment them on a job well done as he is anyone else. 

He’s still got his head firmly on his shoulders.

It’s not like things are the same as they were, though.

Now, whenever Lance feels the need to drop a cheesy pick-up line, Shiro’s as likely as Hunk or Allura to be the one he’s aiming at. It flusters him somewhat, but more than that, it makes him... happy. More happy than he could have expected. 

There are other things, too. Whenever Shiro praises him, even when other people are around, Lance will give him this enormous, sparkling grin, then attach himself to him like a goddamn starfish. He leaves no space between them when he reaches up to play with Shiro’s hair, when that grin turns sly because Shiro’s starting to flush under the attention. Lance always lets him go before he can get too flustered, though, throwing him a wink and a sway of his hips as he walks away.

There’s also the way Hunk makes casual, purposeful contact with him whenever it pleases him. He’ll laugh at a joke and let his palm come to rest on Shiro’s knee, or he’ll lean heavily on Shiro’s back when he’s complaining to him about something. He’ll wrap his around Shiro’s waist just to hold him still, too, because as Hunk tells him, “As the head of Voltron and my boyfriend, it’s totally your job to listen to me whine.”

As promised, Hunk and Lance are patient with him. They don’t push him for anything more just yet, and whenever he tries to apologize for not being tender enough, not romantic enough, they’re more than happy to stop and reassure him.

Shiro’s grateful for their respect, he really is. 

Everything they do satisfies his craving for their affection, and they give it to them without hesitation.

Sometimes, though, when Lance’s eyes linger on him just a hair too long, or Hunk gives him a smug, knowing look whenever a show of his strength leaves Shiro weak in the knees, he finds himself wanting more.

He just has no idea how to ask.

\--

Surprisingly, Hunk is the one who beats him to it.

They’re coming off a successful mission, elated from the thrill of another victory, and from the gratitude of another now-friendly planet. When they’re all back on the bridge, Shiro makes sure to stop each of the paladins individually to tell them how well they did, and how proud he is. 

Pidge elbows him in the stomach and laughs, clearly pleased. Keith turns red and rolls his eyes, then cracks a dad joke at him. Lance gives him a crooked grin and assures him that threading the needle isn’t all he can do well.

Hunk just smiles at him, his eyes locked on Shiro’s lips while he talks. He’s starting to wonder if he has something on his teeth when Hunk steps closer, then puts his hand on Shiro’s shoulder.

“Hey, Shiro?”

“Yeah?”

Fidgeting slightly, Hunk glances over at where the other paladins are messing around further up the bridge. He eventually drops his hand to Shiro’s, then tugs him out into the hall.

Once they’re alone, Shiro steps closer, one hand going to rest soothingly on Hunk’s bicep. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hunk mumbles distractedly. He reaches up and rests his hand over Shiro’s, clearly grateful for the contact. With a steadying sigh, Hunk looks at him again and says, “I wanna ask you something, and you’re totally allowed to say no, and I won’t feel one way or another about it.”

Shiro blinks widely at him, then nods. “Sure, anything.”

Hunks nods vaguely. “Can—can I kiss you?”

The way he’s flushing as he asks is too fucking cute. Shiro feels himself melting already, breathing a soft sigh and smiling warmly at Hunk. At his _boyfriend._

“Sure.” Hunk blinks at him, his lips parting. As if he’s surprised that Shiro would say yes. Shiro laughs at that, then moves his hand to Hunk’s cheek, guiding him closer. “I _have_ kissed before, you know,” he murmurs, because fuck Matt in particular. Hunk almost seems to wilt with relief, especially when Shiro leans up and nudges their noses together, absolutely thriving off their proximity.

Hunk sighs quietly, then tilts his head and closes what little space remains between them.

His lips are just as soft as Shiro knew they would be, but the feeling still shorts his brain out slightly. He breathes a low hum and slides his hand around to the back of Hunk’s head, playing idly with the knot in his headband. Hunk moves against him so slowly, so sweetly it has Shiro light-headed.

The door to the bridge opens beside them, revealing a highly affronted Lance.

“Wow, Hunk, you’re not even gonna do it where I can see?”

Hunk makes a noise that’s somewhere between a groan and a laugh, then pulls away from Shiro to give Lance a raised eyebrow. “Dude, you remember the first time we kissed? How would _you_ have felt with an audience?”

Lance crosses his arms tightly, his cheeks tinting a soft red. “I resent that, Garrett. Our first kiss was magical.”

“It was in a broom closet. In the dark. We both missed.”

“Dragged by my own boyfriend,” Lance warbles, his hands clasped dramatically on his chest. He sways over to where they’re standing and leans heavily on Shiro, then gives him a pretty spectacular pout, looking up at him through his eyelashes. Dude sure knows his angles. 

“Are you jealous?” Shiro teases, pulling away from Hunk with a reassuring squeeze.

“Um, duh,” Lance huffs as he plasters himself to Shiro’s chest easily, his arms wrapping around Shiro’s neck. “If you’re kissing Hunk, and Hunk is kissing you, who’s kissing Lance?”

Shiro can’t help but laugh at that. He slips his arms around Lance’s waist and leans closer, giving him a warm, crooked smile. The way Lance’s brain seems to cease functioning sends a victorious thrill all through Shiro. 

He reaches up and runs his knuckles along Lance’s jaw, then guides him closer, pressing their lips together with a happy sigh, and Lance all but melts into him.

Lance clings to him and fits their lips together more firmly, and when Shiro goes to pull back, he brushes another tiny kiss over Lance’s lips. Lance follows him up for more, even going up on his tiptoes, so Shiro obliges him just a little more before he takes a step back. 

“Okay, okay,” he laughs. Lance is still leaning after him, look more than a little starstruck. It’s an adorable look on him. “As much as I’d like to stay out here, we’re gonna miss the princess’s debrief.”

“You’re so pretty,” Lance replies dumbly. He shakes himself out of it, though, and runs his hand through his hair, letting his cool-guy persona slide back into place. 

He turns and saunters back onto the bridge, but before Shiro can follow him, Hunk catches him by the elbow, then pulls him close again. He kisses him again, his plush lips slow and gentle, and this kiss has sparks running all up and down Shiro’s spine. He shivers, but lets Hunk pull away with a wide smile.

“Thanks, Shiro,” he murmurs, before brushing his lips against Shiro’s cheek. With that, he slips away again and follows Lance onto the bridge.

Shiro has to take a good long moment to collect himself, and even then, he spends half of the debrief thinking about Hunk’s and Lance’s kisses, and how badly he wants more of them.

\--

Fortunately for Shiro, it seems like he’s not alone on the ‘wanting more’ front. Lance and Hunk both steal whatever time they can to pull Shiro closer, to breathe quiet, happy sighs against his lips. Shiro finds himself hooked on the way Lance’s nails feel running gently over his undercut, and how Hunk’s hands feel on the small of his back, holding him closer. 

Lance is perched on the counter one night, both of them hanging out in Hunk’s workshop, waiting for him to come back from wherever it is he and Pidge had gone. Something about unused circuitry, the ship won’t notice it’s gone, and so on. 

All Shiro is doing is standing between Lance’s knees, not even pressed between his thighs, but he’s still hopelessly flustered. It might have something to do with the languid kisses Lance is giving him, their lips sliding together so smoothly, so sweetly it leaves Shiro dizzy. All he can do is run his hands slowly up and down Lance’s sides, but that just seems to encourage him more. 

Humming quietly, Lance moves closer, then slips his tongue against the part of Shiro’s lips.

Shiro hopes to god he’s imagining the noise he just made. 

If not, Lance doesn’t acknowledge it. He’s too busy curling his fingers into Shiro’s shirt and pulling him closer, humming again when Shiro tilts his head and lets him in.

He lets Lance guide him, their tongues curling together lazily, Lance’s teeth pausing to tug on Shiro’s lower lip before nudging him back into a deep, messy kiss. Lance doesn’t seem to mind that, either; if anything, he’s enjoying it, just based on the way his breaths stutter against Shiro’s lips.

When Hunk and Pidge come back in, Pidge makes an appropriately disgusted sound, so Shiro blushes and pulls away. On the counter, Lance just licks his lips idly, still watching Shiro through hooded eyes. 

Hunk laughs at them, then goes back to what he and Pidge had been working on, but in the silences between their chatter, Shiro swears he can feel Hunk’s gaze burning into him.

\--

Things are escalating. Shiro’s not complaining.

Every time they start getting too heated, though, he remembers that he needs to keep his head on straight enough to satisfy not one, but two partners, and he hesitates. 

He wants this to be good for them, to make them happy they chose him, but there’s only so much about jerking himself off that can plausibly transfer to having sex with two whole other people, no matter how nice to himself he is. 

They sense his hesitation, though, and every time, they ease up, no questions asked. 

He knows they’re still having sex. It doesn’t bother him, although he’s horribly curious about where and when they’re finding the time to do it. All he knows is that sometimes they surface from the depths of the castleship, Lance’s face glowing with satisfaction, Hunk’s hair attractively mussed, and Shiro has to reel himself in hard to not think about it too much. Something about an erection lasting more than four hours being bad for you, or whatever.

\--

Shiro finds himself pressed between them again late one evening, and even though everyone is most likely asleep, or at least in their rooms, the fact that they’re still making out in the common room gets under his skin far more than he’d anticipated.

Hunk is kneeling on the couch between Shiro’s spread thighs, his hands traveling slow and warm along them as they kiss, Hunk taking control of it and so easily wiping Shiro’s brain clean. He’s leaning back into Lance’s chest, too, and he’d be worried about squashing him if Lance hadn’t made it so abundantly clear that he likes it. Lance is trailing hot, wet kisses up the side of Shiro’s neck, too, tugging his collar aside so he can move lower, and between them both, Shiro is completely at their mercy.

When Lance’s hands start moving slowly over Shiro’s chest, he finds himself shivering, his hand clinging to Lance’s knee for support. 

Pulling away briefly, Hunk glances down and watches those hands caress Shiro’s chest, trailing over his tense stomach. He lowers his gaze further, and when he sees how affected Shiro is by them, aching in his pants, Hunk breathes a low, ragged curse, then dives back into him, pulling him into a slow, filthy kiss.

Shiro just clings to them, too far out of his brain to be self-conscious.

Lance hums quietly, then slips his hand down further, and when he smooths the flat of his palm over Shiro’s cock through his pants, he can’t help the shaky whimper he breathes into Hunk, nor the way he cants his hips up into Lance’s touch.

Hunk groans, but he pulls away then, biting his lip as he looks Shiro over again. He reaches up to touch Shiro’s cheek, bringing him back to reality. 

“Hey, Shiro,” he murmurs, leaning in to nudge their noses together. “Talk to me. Is this okay?” 

Shiro shivers slightly. Lance is still palming him, which makes it almost impossible to think straight. Hunk notices that, then presses his own hand over Lance’s, and he’s probably trying to hold Lance still so Shiro can breathe, but honestly it just makes Shiro harder. 

“Are you okay with this?”

 _God, yes,_ is what Shiro wants to say. He’s been craving their attention for so long. 

They’re both there, though. Who is he supposed to put his hands on? Whose name is he supposed to say? How does he divide his attention so that Hunk and Lance both feel good, when he himself is already spread so thin just from one touch?

He gnaws on his lip, but before Hunk can lean away, put the brakes on things, Shiro gives him a shaky nod.

“Yes, I—I want this,” he mumbles, averting his gaze. “I’m just... I don’t know. Nervous.”

Hunk hums soothingly. Behind him, Lance hears what he’s saying all too well, because he nudges his nose against Shiro’s ear, then quietly asks, “Is it because there’s two of us?”

Shiro’s eyes widen, and he sucks on his lips, watching as Hunk’s lips form a small, silent ‘o’ of understanding. 

He doesn’t even have to answer at that point. He just kind of squirms, feeling himself turn redder and redder, a weird mix of arousal and frustration with himself. Why is he like this?

“It’s okay, Shiro,” Hunk says before Shiro can spiral too far. “We’re nervous too, and we know each other. I bet it’s _super_ nerve-wracking for you.” Shiro grimaces slightly, resisting the urge to press his thighs back together. “Wow, sorry, that was unhelpful,” Hunk wheezes, scratching the back of his head. 

“Okay, okay, I have a great idea,” Lance says, his hands squeezing Shiro’s sides encouragingly. Lance’s ‘great ideas,’ though, are either fantastic or terrible, with almost no in-between. He can practically hear the grin in Lance’s voice as he continues, “What about if you did it with just one of us first? We’re both pretty good at the whole one on one thing. We can take care of you, and then when you’re a little more used to it, we can move on to more _advanced_ stuff, if you know what I mean.”

Shiro swallows heavily, still sucking on his lips as he glances up at Hunk, who is rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

“That’s... actually not a bad idea.” Hunk smiles at Shiro and reaches for his hand, lacing their fingers gently. “Would that help?”

Groaning roughly, Shiro buries his bright red face in his free hand, giving himself a few long seconds to think about it.

If he’s alone with one of them, he can focus better, not worry about what the other might be doing beside them, whether he’s neglecting them or not. It’ll give him room to learn from them, to see what they like, how they like to be touched, without getting too overwhelmed by learning both of them at once.

Hesitantly, still covering his face, Shiro gives them a tiny nod.

“Alright,” Hunk chirps. “We can work with this.”

“I’m not—” Shiro swallows heavily, then glances at Hunk between his fingers. “Please don’t make me choose between you.”

“You want us to pick?” Hunk asks gently, his thumb still soothing over Shiro’s.

When he nods again, Lance wraps himself around him and blurts, “Oh, _big_ dibs.”

Hunk gives him a flat look. “Wow, not even a rock-paper-scissors?”

“Hell no,” Lance scoffs. “You cheat, anyway. Last time we played for shotgun, I won, but you still stole my seat.”

“I’m bigger than you,” Hunk whines, idly fiddling with the hem of Shiro’s shirt. “I’m a leg. I need leg room.”

“Dude, one, we’re _both_ legs. Two, I’m pretty sure my legs are longer than yours.”

Shiro can’t help laugh at them, dragging his hand through his hair. They pause in their bickering, Hunk’s face a soft, warm smile. Shiro gives him one in return, albeit his quite a bit more flustered.

“Is that okay with you, Shiro?” Hunk murmurs, bringing Shiro’s hand to his lips. He drags soft kisses along the palm of his glove, then down onto the sensitive inside of his wrist, his eyes never leaving Shiro’s. 

“If—if it’s okay with you guys,” he manages. 

“I’m _super_ fine with it,” Lance chimes in, as if anyone was questioning it. Hunk snorts, but he leans forward and gives Shiro a slow, sweet kiss, which is answer enough for him. 

\--

For obvious reasons, they decide to move out of the common room. Lance all but drags them to Shiro’s room, which he hasn’t slept in in weeks. It’s somewhere private, though, and familiar enough that Shiro can let himself relax more.

Outside the door, Hunk drags Lance against himself, kissing him messily, drinking in his happy little noises. “Be nice to him,” Hunk rumbles, his teeth nipping playfully at Lance’s flushed lips. 

“Oh, I’ll be _nice_ to him,” Lance purrs in return. He has one hand fisted lightly in Hunk’s hair, tugging him closer, while the other one busies itself digging in one of the pouches on Hunk’s belt. 

Shiro doesn’t know why he’s surprised that Hunk carries lube and condoms on him. He really shouldn’t be, at this point. 

Once he has what he wants, Lance pulls away from Hunk with a crooked, flirtatious grin, then turns and invites himself into Shiro’s room. 

Before Shiro has a chance to be awkward about this, Hunk turns and tugs him closer by his belt loops, drawing him into another brain-breaking kiss. Shiro melts against him, his eyes fluttering closed, and when Hunk rumbles against him, then slips his hands around to the small of his back, Shiro has to cling to him to not just fall over.

Breathing another low hum, Hunk lets his hands slide down further, and as he’s nudging a thigh between Shiro’s, he grips Shiro’s ass firmly, then tugs him close. The feeling of his aching cock grinding along Hunk’s thigh has Shiro sighing hot against his lips, his knees shaking.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Hunk whispers roughly, ducking his head so he can mouth along Shiro’s jaw, pressing a hot, sucking kiss against his pulse. “Lance is gonna take you apart so nice, I bet you’ll like it.”

Shiro bites his lip and squirms, doing his best to not just give in and rock his hips against Hunk’s leg. 

Hunk leans back up and smiles at him, though, giving his ass another good squeeze before regretfully letting him go. “Go on, we can finish this later.” He bites his lip and looks Shiro over again, apparently content with how worked up he has him, before he nudges him toward his room, then saunters down the hall to his own.

Inside the room, Shiro’s kind of surprised that Lance is still dressed, sitting patiently on his bed. He shakes his head to clear it, letting the door close behind him as he comes to kneel on the bed next to him, leaning down for a kiss.

Lance obliges him easily, tilting up into him to fit them together better. Before Shiro can get too lost in him, though, Lance stands up again and grins at him, pulling his hoodie off and dropping it aside carelessly. “How far you do you wanna go?”

Shiro blinks up at him, then flushes. “I, um. I don’t mind.”

“Mm, I was hoping you’d say that.” Lance bites his lip and looks Shiro over thoughtfully. “Here, sit back against the wall. I’ll make it easy for you.”

Nodding vaguely, Shiro pauses just to pull his boots off, then his glove, already feeling exposed. He does as instructed, though, facing Lance where he’s still standing beside the bed, his hip cocked confidently to the side.

Rather than give him more instructions just yet, Lance throws him a wide grin and a wink, and as cheesy as the gesture should probably be, Shiro just flushes darker. 

Lance tilts his head with a sigh, then starts dragging his hands down his own chest, until one of his thumbs catches in the waist of his pants, tugging it down teasingly. Shiro probably should have expected this, but he can still feel himself aching in his pants. He tries to be subtle about adjusting himself, but of course Lance catches him, his dark eyes lingering on Shiro’s hand on himself for a long second before flicking back up to his face.

“I wanted to tease you,” Lance admits, quick to pull his shirt off and toss that aside too. “But honestly, you look too fucking hot right now, so you’re spared. This time.”

“How generous,” Shiro mumbles. Lance laughs at that, the sound so pretty Shiro can’t help but smile. 

Lance doesn’t leave him hanging for long. He kicks his own shoes off, then drags his hands down his chest again, and this time, he slowly unbuttons his pants, his eyes not leaving Shiro’s. Shiro swallows heavily, then realizes he’s still palming himself lightly, so he pulls his hand away and stuffs it under his thigh.

“You don’t have to be so shy,” Lance murmurs, tilting his head and smiling for him. “I like seeing how much I get to you.”

Shiro swallows heavily, his teeth digging into his lip. Lance lets that thought go, though, in favor of sliding his zipper down, then shimmying out of his tight jeans. 

Left in nothing but his boxers, Lance helps himself into Shiro’s personal space, crawling across the bed until he’s settled comfortably in his lap, straddling him easily and pulling him into another slow kiss. 

Unable to help himself, Shiro brings his shaky hands to Lance’s waist, squeezing tightly and sighing against Lance’s lips. Lance hums agreeably, arching his back so their chests press tight together, his arms sliding lazily around Shiro’s shoulders. He rocks his hips down then, and the feeling of Lance’s arousal dragging along his own has Shiro gasping softly, his breath hitching.

Without pulling away, Lance drags his hands back down to Shiro’s chest, spreading his fingers appreciatively before sliding them up and tugging lightly on the zipper fastening Shiro’s vest. He gives Shiro a second to hesitate, to change his mind, and some part of Shiro wants to.

It’s not like Lance hasn’t _seen_ him. They use communal showers, for god’s sake. Everyone on their team knows how fucked up Shiro’s body is now, even if they don’t say anything about it. 

Instead, he reaches up and wraps his hand around Lance’s, then uses their hands to pull his zipper down a little, licking between his lips with a rough sigh, which Lance correctly interprets as his go-ahead. 

Lance makes quick work of the zipper, impatiently pushing the vest off his shoulders. He tugs Shiro upright, sliding his hands under the hem of his shirt and dragging his palms up his stomach, over his chest, groaning appreciatively at what he finds. He pulls away from the kiss just long enough to pull the shirt over Shiro’s head, letting him untangle his arms from the sleeves before tossing it aside and melting against him again.

Shiro wraps his arms around Lance’s waist and rocks up against him again, albeit not out of impatience. The friction just feels good, and he loves the way it makes Lance shiver against him, how his narrow thighs spread further over Shiro’s lap. 

As they kiss, he finds himself growing bolder, encouraged by the breathless little noises Lance is making. He drags his hands along Lance’s spine, his fingers tracing the subtle ridges of the old burn scar that takes up most of his back. Lance shivers, and when Shiro runs his hands down further, then slips them into the back of Lance’s boxers, his lips part around a heavy sigh, his eyelids fluttering so pretty.

Lance kneels up then, his dark eyes on Shiro’s, before hooking his fingers in the waistband of his boxers. He pulls them down slowly, letting them cling to him until his hard cock bounces out of them, flushed _so_ pretty, already wet with precome. Shiro groans, his thumbs dragging over Lance’s sharp hip bones. 

He slouches further down the bed, holding Lance in place as he leans in and drags his tongue over the slick head. 

The angle doesn’t give him much room to work with, nor can he look up and see Lance’s face, but the way his trembling fingers thread through Shiro’s hair and the way he gasps serve as enough encouragement.

Shiro hums, curving his hand around him gently and stroking just enough to pull his flushed foreskin back. He leans down again, then wraps his lips around the head, moaning around him at the taste of his skin, of his precome. Lance curses raggedly, his fist tightening in Shiro’s hair.

He wants more of him, honestly, wants to take him deeper, hear his breath hitch more, try and make him moan for him, but Lance murmurs his name, gently guiding him away.

Before he can apologize, hoping he hadn’t overstepped, Lance watches him lick his lips and groan at whatever face he’s making, then sits heavily in his lap again and kisses him almost desperately. Shiro sighs shakily, wrapping his arms back around Lance’s waist, and the feeling of Lance’s slick cock against his bare stomach has him shivering again, craving more of him.

“I want you naked,” Lance murmurs against Shiro, his teeth catching his flushed lips and tugging playfully. “Wanna see all of you, then I want you inside me.”

Shiro groans raggedly, his hands curling around Lance’s ass again. He realizes that Lance is waiting for him to actually respond, though, and nods quickly. “Y-yeah, yeah,” he whispers. “I want that. Want—want you.”

“Mm, good,” Lance purrs, slipping his tongue between Shiro’s lips again just to tease. He pulls away before Shiro can catch his lips properly, kneeling over his lap again with a sharp, crooked grin. He makes quick work of removing his boxers entirely, surprisingly graceful given the position, and how long his legs are. 

While Shiro’s ogling him, barely able to believe that he’s here, and that Lance looks so _good_ like this, Lance scoots back in Shiro’s lap, then reaches down and curves his hand over Shiro’s cock through his pants again.

His breath stuttering, Shiro swallows heavily, then reaches down and helpfully unfastens his pants. Lance grins eagerly at him, and when Shiro lifts his hips, Lance curls his fingers into his pants and his boxers, then tugs them both down to his thighs. 

He stops once he sees Shiro’s cock, though, hard and aching against his stomach. Shiro resists the urge to cover himself, but Lance’s silence is starting to make him squirm.

“W-we don’t have to—” he starts, before Lance looks up at him again, his dark eyes pinning him in place.

“Unless you wanna stop,” he says quietly, his voice rough with arousal. “Don’t worry about me. I just don’t know how I’m supposed to focus on supply runs now, knowing you could be putting this inside me instead.”

Shiro whimpers. He tries to swallow it down, but he’s way too slow. Lance doesn’t seem to mind the sound, anyway. 

“Like, god,” Lance continues, looking back down at Shiro’s cock. “I knew you’d be big, but how do you actually walk around on three legs all day?”

Unable to help it, Shiro snorts out a dorky laugh, quickly covering his mouth. Lance just grins at him, though. He leans in close, nudging at the back of Shiro’s hand until he drops it so they can kiss again. Once he’s settled himself in Shiro’s lap again, he angles both of their cocks together and wraps his hands around them, then breathes a quiet moan into Shiro as he rocks his hips against him.

Shiro gathers him close and sighs for him, so enamored with how it feels to have Lance in his arms, in his lap, flushed hot and breathing heavily for him.

“Are you okay to keep going?” Lance murmurs, reluctant to leave Shiro’s lips. “I’m not trying to say I’m impatient, but...”

“’S fine, I’m fine,” Shiro replies quickly. He hopes he doesn’t sound too desperate. 

If he does, Lance doesn’t say anything. He pats around on the bed beside them, fishing around in Shiro’s sheets until he comes across the bottle of lube he’d gotten from Hunk. Before Shiro can be nervous about how to proceed, Lance makes quick work of slicking his own fingers, then shuffles up onto his knees and arches his hips back.

Shiro lets Lance kiss him, but he’s insanely distracted by the sounds of Lance working himself open for him. He drags his hands down the curve of Lance’s spine, then over his ass, before carefully letting himself feel where Lance has two fingers buried inside himself, thrusting and spreading gently. Both of them groan at that, and Lance deepens the kiss, unconcerned for how messy it’s become.

Letting Lance work, Shiro pats around beside them again, figuring that the condom has to be here somewhere too. He finds it with a triumphant noise, which earns him a breathless giggle from Lance. 

He pulls back and tears open the condom with shaking fingers, his tongue poked out in concentration as he rolls it onto himself. Lance hums again, clearly impressed, but he doesn’t ask. Shiro’s glad for it; he might be a virgin, but he’s fucking twenty-five. It’s not like he’s entirely clueless.

“Almost ready,” Lance sighs, nuzzling Shiro affectionately. “Use more lube, though. Gonna be a tight fit.”

Shiro tries not to groan at that, but his face must give him away, because Lance gives him a sharp, knowing grin. He finds the lube again and slicks himself with it, unable to look away from Lance, from how flushed and pretty he is right now. Somehow, he resists the urge to keep touching himself, moving instead to wipe his hand carelessly on the sheet.

As he moves, Lance’s eyes flutter closed, and he wraps his hand around Shiro’s bicep to steady himself. It’s his right arm, and the feeling of the warm metal under his fingers makes Lance hum softly. 

If he wasn’t so relaxed right now, Shiro might tense up at the way Lance sweeps his palm so easily down his bionic arm, his fingers curling appreciatively around his unmoving wrist. He just hums, though, and when Lance pulls his hand to his cock, Shiro curls his fingers around him, careful not to squeeze too hard. He can’t feel him as well this way, but the way it makes Lance squirm is more than enough to compensate.

“Love feeling your hands on me,” Lance whispers, shivering at the feeling of his fingers, of Shiro’s flexible prosthetic slowly stroking him. “Want them on me all the time, feels so good...”

Shiro groans and ducks into Lance’s long neck, mouthing up the smooth column of his throat. Lance gasps and leans his head back, grinding his fingers into himself firmly one last time before he pulls them out and collapses in Shiro’s lap again.

“Whenever you want them,” Shiro sighs, his voice so low, so raspy it surprises him. Lance’s breath hitches, though, and he arches into Shiro’s steady rhythm. “I’ll touch you whenever you want me to, however much you’ll let me. Wanna—wanna make you feel good.”

“God,” Lance gasps, his knees spreading further, rocking into Shiro’s cock where it’s leaning heavily against the join of his thigh. “O-okay, okay, knock it off or you’re gonna make me come.” Shiro muffles a deep groan in the crook of Lance’s neck. Before he can tell him how good that idea sounds, Lance is delicately pulling Shiro’s hand back onto his hip. “Don’t give me that face,” Lance laughs, “I don’t want to come before I’ve rocked your world.”

Shiro snorts, then tugs Lance against his chest, gently catching his earlobe in his teeth. “You already are,” he murmurs, eating up the way it makes Lance melt against him. 

“Ohhhmygod, okay,” Lance says, sitting up straight again. He presses Shiro back until he’s leaning against the wall again, then pulls himself up onto his knees over Shiro’s cock, licking his lips slowly. “You ready?”

Nodding firmly, Shiro reaches down to hold himself steady for Lance. 

Lance grins at him, though, and whispers, “You say that now.”

Without finishing that thought, Lance braces his hands on Shiro’s chest, then presses down against him, his flushed lips already parting at the feeling. He reaches down to help steady Shiro, rocking his hips down until the head of Shiro’s cock slides inside him.

After that, Lance takes him deeper in slow, steady rolls of his hips, making these tiny, overwhelmed sounds as he goes.

Shiro’s just trying not to lose it entirely.

Lance feels _so_ fucking good around him. He’s hot and tight, and wet enough that the slide is easy. He’d done a damn good job preparing himself. 

He hadn’t expected Lance to take all of him, but he does, and once he’s settled in Shiro’s lap, he lets out a shaky sigh, his flushed face relaxed and so pleased. He lets his hands settle on Shiro’s shoulders again, then rocks his hips gently, helping himself get used to Shiro filling him.

“Fuck, Shiro,” Lance sighs, tilting his head aside so Shiro can mouth desperately along his neck. “God, you feel amazing...”

All Shiro can do is moan his agreement, his fingers tight on Lance’s hips. 

After a long moment, Lance hums, then gently pushes Shiro back against the wall so he can give him an absolutely _wicked_ grin. 

“I’m pretty sure,” he says, trailing one finger down Shiro’s chest, “That I said I’d take care of you, huh?” Shiro swallows, then nods. “So let me take care of you,” Lance sighs, giving him one more slow, easy kiss before he leans back and braces his hands on Shiro’s knees.

The angle must be good for Lance, because the way he hums and tightens around him is _incredible_ for Shiro. He pants softly, restlessly petting Lance, and when he starts rolling his hips in long, easy strokes, Shiro lets his head fall back against the wall with a heavy _thud._ He curses breathlessly, wrapping his hands around Lance’s thighs, doing his best to hold onto him.

Lance calls his name, his voice low and breathy but still playful. Once he has Shiro’s attention again, he grins crookedly, then sinks all the way onto his cock and _squeezes._

As if that wasn’t enough to have Shiro’s brain melting altogether, Lance spreads his thighs even wider, showing off his flexibility. From this angle, Shiro can see himself inside Lance, see the way his boyfriend stretches around him, and it takes every ounce of self control he has to not lose it.

“Keep your eyes on me,” Lance whispers, his dark gaze leaving no room for argument. 

Lance starts rocking his hips again, and once the slide is easier, he trusts Shiro to hold more of his weight, then lifts his hips. 

When he rides back down onto him, Lance’s head falls back between his shoulders and his thighs tremble, but all Shiro can do is gasp his name and hold onto him, his needy hips twitching up for more.

“ _Fuck,_ Shiro,” Lance sighs, his eyes finding Shiro’s again, lidded and hazy with pleasure. “God, you’re so hard for me—” Shiro nods quickly, his teeth digging into his lip. Lance moans quietly, then lifts his hips again, repeating the motion over and over until all Shiro can do is shake for him. 

Lance gives him a flustered grin as he starts moving more firmly, keeping the same slow rhythm just for the sake of driving Shiro crazy. He’s squeezing around him, too, earning himself breathless moans and whimpers of his name. If anything, Shiro’s noises just serve to encourage him. “You like that, baby?” he asks softly, pausing to grind himself onto Shiro’s lap.

Shiro chokes slightly, his hands tight on Lance’s waist. “L-Lance, _please..._ ”

That earns him a rough hum. Lance looks him over, licking his lips slowly before he sighs, “Ooh, _I_ like _that..._ ” He squeezes around Shiro again, earning himself a winded moan.

Duly encouraged, Lance shifts his grip on Shiro’s knees, then picks up the pace, making sure Shiro can see everything as he moves. Shiro knows he must look so desperate for him, so flushed and breathless, but he can’t bring himself to care when it just makes Lance look at him like he is.

“Fuck, Shiro, your cock is _perfect,_ ” Lance sighs, his eyelids fluttering closed. He bites his lip and focuses on moving his hips, but the way Shiro’s hitting him must be getting to him, because his thighs are trembling, and he’s tightening around him _so_ nicely. 

Shiro wants to take him apart more. To hear him moaning for him, gasping his name, shaking in his lap and around his cock.

With a steadying breath, Shiro moves his hands back to Lance’s hips, and after a few more deep thrusts, starts rocking up into him, carefully following his rhythm.

The effect it has on Lance is _incredible._

He breathes a wavering moan and squeezes his eyes shut, his head falling back again. For a moment, his hips lose their pace, but it’s okay because Shiro picks it up for him, fucking up into him slow and easy. 

Lance whimpers Shiro’s name, his voice coming more easily now. He reaches for him, though, so Shiro pulls him into his chest, catching his flushed lips in a deep, messy kiss. Lance melts against him, shakily wrapping himself around him, and once he’s settled, Shiro slides his hands down to Lance’s ass and starts moving again.

It feels too good for him to keep a steady rhythm. Lance doesn’t seem to mind, though, gasping and whining against his lips, his hands restlessly tugging his hair. He tilts his head back, stammering out Shiro’s name when he drags his tongue up his throat, groaning at the way Lance tightens around him. “God, Shiro,” Lance gasps, tilting his head aside encouragingly when Shiro starts brainlessly sucking flushed marks into his skin. 

Shiro rumbles against his skin, gently dragging his teeth along the curve of his shoulder as he wraps his arms around him, cradling him against his chest. “Lance, you’re _so_ good...”

“Y-yeah, yeah,” Lance manages. “Fuck me harder, baby, please, wanna feel you—”

Burying a desperate whimper against Lance’s pulse, Shiro holds him tighter, then mumbles, “C-can’t, feels too good.”

Lance breathes a loud whine of his name, then pulls him back to his lips, kissing him desperately. “You close, baby?” he sighs into him, his hands buried in his mussed hair, pushing his white forelock back against his head, out of his eyes. “You gonna come for me?”

Shiro moans at that, then nods, his eyes sliding closed. “Trying—t-trying not to...”

“No, nonono,” Lance gasps, nipping sharply at Shiro’s lips. “Don’t hold out on me now, come on—want you to come for me, Shiro, come inside me, want it so bad—”

“Fuck, _Lance,_ ” Shiro keens, his brow furrowed in pleasure. 

“C’mon, Shiro, please fuck me harder, _please,_ ” Lance continues, his words hot against Shiro’s lips, his body shaking where he’s pressed against Shiro’s chest. 

Shiro arches his hips up against him, grinding himself deep, doing his best to hold himself together. Lance is begging for him, though, his soaked cock rubbing against Shiro’s stomach, trusting Shiro to be good to him, to make him feel good. Who would Shiro be if he didn’t oblige?

Shifting Lance in his lap, Shiro spreads his knees and starts moving again, earning himself a loud, trembling moan. He picks up the pace then, speeding up until he’s snapping his hips up into Lance, whimpering at how good, how _tight_ he is, how gorgeous he sounds crying Shiro’s name, his hands desperately clinging to him. 

There’s no way he can last like this. It’s a miracle he’s made it this far, honestly. He’s been holding on with nothing but determination, with the desire to see Lance come on his cock, but even Shiro’s stubbornness has limits.

Thankfully, Lance seems to be reaching his limit too. He sounds so beautiful, noisy whimpers and gasps, his face flushed with pleasure, his pretty lips parted around pleading whines of Shiro’s name.

Shiro groans for him, then slides his hands back down to Lance’s ass, squeezing tightly and holding onto him as he moves.

Somehow, Lance doesn’t even need to touch his cock. Just grinding it against Shiro’s stomach is enough.

Shiro knew he would be beautiful, but seeing Lance’s back arch, his head falling back, his voice flooding the room as he squeezes around him, tighter and tighter as every muscle in his body tenses... it’s all Shiro can do to hold on just a little longer.

He groans when Lance spills across his stomach, up his chest, his nails digging into Shiro’s shoulders as he cries out for him. He’s babbling, too, barely coherent but so, _so_ pleased. 

Burying his face in Lance’s shoulder, Shiro pulls him closer and sinks his teeth into Lance’s shoulder as his orgasm washes over him. He buries himself deep and _grinds,_ his grip pulling Lance harder onto his cock, every part of him quaking with pleasure as he comes inside him. He’s whimpering for him, the sound muffled against soft, dark skin, earning himself a few breathless, overwhelmed curses from his boyfriend.

It takes him a while to come down, to stop huffing brainless little moans with every breath. Eventually, though, he manages to still his hips, although Lance does him the favor of sitting on him heavily, keeping him safe inside him.

After a few minutes, Lance sighs shakily, his hands still playing with Shiro’s hair. “Holy shit,” he mumbles, leaning his forehead against Shiro’s temple. “Are you _sure_ you’re a virgin?”

Shiro snorts at that, turning to catch Lance’s lips in a slow, easy kiss. “Not anymore now, am I,” he murmurs against him, which earns him a wide, pretty smile.

“Gimme that v-card,” Lance snickers, but he lets Shiro pull him into another sloppy kiss, humming contently.

When he leans up on shaky thighs, pulling himself off of Shiro’s cock, Shiro moans at the feeling, trying not to arch up after him. Lance rolls away and off the bed, digging in his closet for a towel while Shiro carefully pulls his condom off. Lance turns and takes it from him, expertly tying it off and throwing it out before he crawls back onto the bed with the towel.

Without really knowing why, Shiro rests his hand on Lance’s wrist before he can wipe himself off and mumbles, “Hey, c’mere.” Lance blinks widely at him, but he lets Shiro take the towel, then guide him back into his lap. Shiro hums contently as he gently wipes Lance clean, the opportunity to take care of Lance setting him entirely at ease.

“So that’s how it is, huh,” Lance teases, lacing his fingers behind Shiro’s neck. Shiro flushes and finishes up, then wipes himself down, pausing to take in the way he looks splattered in Lance’s come before he has to clean it off.

If he was going to tease Shiro further, Lance seems to think better of it. Once Shiro puts the towel aside, Lance wraps himself around him, kissing him slow and lazy.

“You’re fantastic, by the way,” Lance murmurs, grinning into the kiss. Shiro nuzzles him affectionately, mumbling his thanks. Before he can return the sentiment, Lance gives him a cocky grins and says, “I know I’m amazing too, don’t worry.”

Shiro rolls his eyes, already laughing. He’s not about to let Lance off the hook, though. He tugs him close again and hums against his ear, loving the way Lance shivers at the sound. “You were so good,” he whispers, before flicking his tongue against Lance’s ear and squeezing his ass again, his grip firm and possessive.

Lance _melts._

“Oh, wow, okay,” he wheezes, his hands weakly clinging to Shiro’s shoulders. “You’re too fucking good at that, this is unfair.” Shiro chuckles at that, which just sends another shiver down Lance’s spine.

“Nope, nope,” Lance blurts, before he rolls away from him again, giving himself a good shake. “You’re not getting me hard again yet, it’s not fair.”

Shiro grins at him, lazily crossing his ankles. “How so?”

Lance sniffs disdainfully, already pulling his underwear back on. “My turn’s over. As much as I want to double down, what I want more is for Hunk to see just how fucking hot you are in bed.”

Blinking widely, Shiro sits up straight again. “W-wait, right now?”

“Oh yes.” Lance turns back to him, his pants hanging loose on his hips. “I hope you can go again, because Hunk needs to get in on this.”

Shiro flushes dark, all his bravado wavering when he remembers how easily Hunk had broken him down in the hall, how quickly he’d had Shiro melting in his hands. 

Yeah, he can probably go again.

\--

Hunk yelps when the door to their room opens and Lance stomps in, dragging Shiro behind him. 

“Hunk, my man,” he announces, “You _have_ to get this dick.”

Dragging a hand down his face, Hunk pulls himself out of the bed. He’s already in his pajamas, looking like he’d been ready to turn in for the night. He moves over to Lance, though, yanking him close by his hips and nibbling at his lips.

“Can you not,” he grumbles, “Make our boyfriend feel like a piece of meat, please.”

Shiro flushes at that, but he can’t help the pleased smile that spreads across his face. 

“Dude, I get where you’re coming from,” Lance says, peeling himself away from Hunk, “But I am going to be walking funny for a week, and honestly you’re just lucky I’m _generous._ This is a gift of love, from me to you.”

Hunk rolls his eyes, but he’s already laughing. “Love you too, you giant dork.”

Lance preens at that, then turns back to Shiro and pulls him into a soft, sweet kiss. “Be good, big boy,” he breathes, and with that, he’s gone.

Shiro dazedly watches the door close behind him before he turns back to Hunk with a flustered smile.

Hunk gives him an equally shy look, so at odds from how he’d been earlier. He scratches his cheek as he moves closer, inviting himself into Shiro’s space before murmuring, “I really wasn’t expecting to see you guys until tomorrow.”

“Lance has his priorities, I guess,” Shiro chuckles, easily resting his hands on Hunk’s waist. 

“Sure does, it’s just that most of those priorities involve dick.”

Shiro barks a laugh at that, and Hunk gives him another smile, this one warmer, more comfortable. He leans down and brushes his lips against Shiro’s, humming against him when Shiro shivers and tugs him closer. 

“So, I know Lance didn’t exactly leave room for debate,” Hunk says, sliding his hands down to rest on Shiro’s hips. “But I just want you to know, we don’t have to do anything right now if you don’t want to. He just forgets not everyone has that Energizer bunny stamina.” Shiro blinks curiously at him, at which Hunk turns bright red and clears his throat. “Also, I might have already jerked off. Twice. S-so, um, you don’t need to worry about me feeling left out or unsatisfied or anything.”

It takes a lot of self-control for Shiro to not space out imagining that. Hunk’s hand tight around himself, those pretty lips parted around hushed gasps and moans, his hips straining up for more...

Not enough self-control.

Shiro shakes himself slightly, giving Hunk a crooked smile instead. He slides one hand up to idly run his fingers through Hunk’s mussed hair, taking a long moment to enjoy their proximity before leaning up for another lazy kiss.

This time, he slips his tongue between Hunk’s lips, using all the tricks he’s learned so far to make his boyfriend’s breath hitch. The hands on his hips squeeze him harder before pulling him closer, pressing their bodies tight together, and when Hunk breathes a soft, ragged hum against him, Shiro lets himself preen at the attention, at how easily he manages to get under Hunk’s skin.

After a long moment of this, Hunk gently turns Shiro around and guides him back toward the bed. Shiro falls onto it, then leans back on his elbows, biting his lip as he takes in the way Hunk is _staring_ at him. 

Lance isn’t the only one who knows his angles.

“Oh, man,” Hunk murmurs, dragging a hand down his flushed face. He doesn’t continue that thought, though, choosing instead to pull his night shirt off, and even though Shiro has seen Hunk shirtless more times than he can count, it’s never been like _this._ Never so late, so intimate, never with Hunk’s eyes already dark with arousal, pinning Shiro in place so easily as he crawls up the bed to join him.

Shiro lets himself lie flat when Hunk kisses him again, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair, to hold him closer. Hunk leans over him on one elbow, his other hand soothing over Shiro’s stomach before he slides it up under Shiro’s shirt, groaning at the feeling of his warm, bare skin.

“S-so,” Hunk murmurs, his breath hot against Shiro’s lips, “I gotta know. How was it?”

Humming roughly, Shiro licks his lips, then tilts his head aside when Hunk drags more languid kisses down his jaw, along the line of his throat. “Amazing,” Shiro replies, only a little out of breath. “I-I mean, for me,” he amends sheepishly. “Might wanna check back in with him.”

Hunk groans softly at that, his teeth nipping playfully at Shiro’s pulse. “Oh, I’m going to.” He leans up again and brushes Shiro’s forelock out of his eyes, one of his wide, pretty smiles wrinkling the corners of his eyes. “But I’m pretty sure you blew his mind. I could tell when you two came in.”

Shiro swallows heavily, wondering just how disheveled they’d looked. Not that the idea bothers him. Quite the opposite, actually. He shifts slightly, hoping his growing arousal isn’t too obvious. After all, Hunk had said he’d already jerked off, so.

Seeing Shiro’s squirming, Hunk brushes a few small, reassuring kisses against his cheek. “There’s an easy enough way to tell,” he murmurs. “Did he make any noise?”

That just flusters Shiro even more. He can’t help but remember the sounds Lance had made, the way he begged for his cock, how loud, how gorgeous he’d been, his voice echoing around Shiro’s small room...

“I hope our rooms are soundproofed,” Shiro manages eventually. 

Hunk blinks widely at him, then starts laughing, his whole body trembling with giggles. The sight has Shiro grinning too, even as he’s flushing darker. “Yeah, yeah,” Hunk snorts, biting down more laughter. “It was amazing for him too, then.”

Shiro tilts his head at that, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “You’re telling me _Lance_ is usually quiet?”

“I know how it sounds,” Hunk says, his hand starting to move across Shiro’s stomach again, slow and appreciative. “But the dude grew up on a farm in the middle of Nowhere, Texas. That’s like, bottom-of-the-ocean silent at night. Plus, he lived with like thirteen members of his immediate family.” Shiro stares at him, unable to even begin imagining that. Hunk nods sagely. “Yeah, I think we’d been messing around for like six months before I heard him moan for the first time.”

Shiro continues staring at him, which just makes Hunk giggle again. Hunk leans down and kisses his cheek, then laughs, “Before you ask, _yes,_ it was nerve-wracking. I think he started making noise just to get me to stop asking if it was really good for him. But yeah, he’s awful at faking it, so if he was making noise for you and they didn’t make you cringe, it’s because he loved it.”

“Good to know,” Shiro mumbles. It does set him at ease, though. Lance hadn’t seemed anything but genuine, but Shiro tends to worry. Fortunately, Hunk’s a worrier too, and he’s always been able to see right through Shiro whenever he starts getting anxious.

Hunk hums quietly, then guides Shiro into another deep, soothing kiss, slipping his tongue along Shiro’s in a way that drives that train of thought out of his head altogether. He lets Hunk take care of him, pushing up the hem of his shirt so his fingers can freely roam across Shiro’s chest, down his ribs, happy to take his time touching him.

Before long, though, the slow, gentle swipes of Hunk’s thumbs over Shiro’s nipples start getting to him. He nibbles lightly on Hunk’s lips, doing his best not to squirm.

That is, until Hunk groans against him, then drags his palm down Shiro’s stomach, down to where his cock is straining against his pants again. Shiro gasps, arching up into the touch, his hands coming to grip Hunk’s biceps. 

“Hey, Shiro,” Hunk whispers, his tongue laving along Shiro’s flushed lips. “I’ve been wanting to do something for, uh... look, a while now.” Shiro makes a vaguely questioning noise, but that’s about the most coherent response he can manage with the way Hunk’s fingers are tracing the outline of his cock through his pants, firmly teasing around the head.

Hunk pulls away, though, and Shiro tries his best to bite back a disappointed whine. He blinks up at him, his heart skipping a beat at how Hunk looks kneeling between his spread knees, looking him over with dark, hooded eyes, his teeth catching his lower lip.

He helps Shiro pull his shirt the rest of the way off, then presses him back into the sheets and comes to rest over him again. This time, he only lingers on Shiro’s lips for a moment before he starts kissing down his neck again, slowly moving further down until he’s dragging his tongue in a slow line down Shiro’s chest. He keeps his eyes on Shiro the whole time, even as his hand slides up Shiro’s thigh and over his cock again, squeezing him through his pants. 

Pausing to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to a jagged scar stretching along Shiro’s ribs, Hunk slides his hands up to Shiro’s hips, then gently holds him still as he starting mouthing his way down again. Shiro pants and squirms at the way Hunk sloppily appreciates his body, leaning up on his elbows to watch when Hunk nuzzles into the dark trail of hair leading down into his pants.

He stops when his lips meet the fastening of Shiro’s pants, though, glancing back up at him as if checking to make sure this is okay.

Shiro swallows, then nods his head dazedly, already trying to lift his hips helpfully. Hunk gives him a sharp, crooked grin, then quickly unfastens his pants, but rather than start pulling them down, he tugs the flaps aside, then mouths along Shiro’s cock where it’s straining against his boxers.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Shiro does his best not to whine at the feeling. Lance hadn’t teased him much, too eager himself, but Hunk doesn’t seem to feel the same way. If anything, he’s been taking Shiro’s advice about patience rather seriously.

He moans against Shiro’s clothed cock, pressing his tongue against the head and rubbing firmly, then wrapping his lips around him as best he can through the fabric. He sucks gently, then pulls away and rubs his cheek against him, those dark eyes still watching through thick eyelashes as Shiro flushes and gasps for him.

“H-Hunk,” Shiro murmurs, burying one trembling hand in Hunk’s hair. “Hunk, please...”

Humming thoughtfully, Hunk gives him a long, slow blink, then lightly drags his teeth up Shiro’s length, earning himself a quiet, breathy whine and a tug on his hair. It’s pretty clear that Shiro’s not really protesting, though, especially with the dark, wet spot forming over the head of his aching arousal.

Thankfully, Hunk seems swayed by Shiro’s pleas. He leans up to tug Shiro’s pants and his boxers down just enough to free his cock, licking his lips at the way it arches against his flat stomach, flushed and needy.

Without further ado, Hunk crawls forward and wraps his hand around Shiro, giving him a slow, easy stroke. His hands are so big, so warm that Shiro can’t help the soft moan he lets out, nor the way he arches up for more. Hunks hums, his other hand moving to Shiro’s hip again, soothing his thumb along the sharp line of his hip bone as he strokes him a few more times.

He lets his hand rest at the base, though, and he holds eye contact with Shiro as he guides the head of his cock between his lips.

It takes everything Shiro has to not just collapse at the feeling.

Lance had been so hot, so tight, but this is a completely different sensation; Hunk’s mouth is so soft around him, his tongue cradling him and laving over his slit, then slipping under his foreskin, guiding it down under the head so Hunk can tease his sensitive head more easily. 

He has Shiro completely at his mercy, even with just the first few inches in Hunk’s mouth. He’s doing so many fantastic things with his tongue that Shiro can’t even keep track of them all. All he can do is shiver and arch, his thighs spreading further, doing his best to keep watching even though he wants so badly to just splay himself out for his boyfriend.

It seems that Hunk isn’t satisfied with just this much, though. He hums around Shiro, then does it again when the feeling nearly makes Shiro’s eyes cross, before sliding his hand down and bobbing his head deeper.

Shiro realizes pretty quickly that having his cock sucked is a strong contender for his favorite feeling in the universe.

He finally falls back against the bed once he can’t keep himself steady anymore, but he squashes a pillow under his head so he can still watch whenever he can bring himself to keep his eyes open. That leaves his hands free, so he restlessly combs his fingers through Hunk’s hair, dragging his thumb across his flushed cheek and petting him encouragingly. 

Hunk takes him deep, his rhythm slow and steady, somehow still driving Shiro out of his brain with his tongue on every pass. Before long, he has his nose buried in the soft curls above Shiro’s cock, and as if that wasn’t enough to have Shiro whimpering, he _swallows,_ then swallows again, his hands firmly holding Shiro’s hips down on the bed to keep him from bucking up into the sensation. 

Since Hunk is doing a damn good job of keeping him from squirming too much as he bobs his head, Shiro spreads his thighs as far as his pants will allow him, bracing his right hand against the wall above his head in an attempt to ground himself. It doesn’t give him the leverage to rock his hips, but it lets him keep his head on his shoulders, so it’s enough. His other hand is still desperately touching Hunk, combing his bangs back off his forehead, stroking his thumb along his ear, gently tracing the slick corner of Hunk’s lips, feeling where they’re wrapped so firmly around himself. 

After a few more languid passes, Hunk hollows his cheeks around him, then slowly pulls off, letting up with his hands just enough that Shiro can arch after him, a keening moan huffing out of him at the loss.

“You sound so good,” Hunk breathes, his voice deliciously rough from sucking Shiro’s cock. He grins when Shiro gasps his name, stroking him tightly to tide him over while he gazes up at him, licking his lips thoughtfully. “Wanna make you come like this,” he whispers, pressing a hot, wet kiss to the head of his cock, his eyelids fluttering when his lips slide through the slick precome dripping from his flushed head. “Wanna hear what kinds of noises you make when you’re coming down my throat—”

A sharp, brainless whimper interrupts him, and Hunk blinks down at Shiro’s cock as it twitches hard in his hand. He gets his mouth back on him just in time for his come to spill over his tongue, moaning raggedly at the taste and stroking the base firmly. 

Shiro throws his arm over his face as Hunk sucks him dry, panting heavily and trembling for him. If he’s making noises, he has no control over them, and his ears are ringing too much for him to hear himself moaning anyway. Hunk talking like that was apparently all it took to have Shiro losing his mind, and he’d be embarrassed if he wasn’t so overwhelmed, so lost in the pleasure of Hunk’s mouth around him.

Hunk carries him through his orgasm, laving his tongue over him and sucking until Shiro’s twitching and shaking under him, gasping at the sharp sparks of pleasure shooting through his frazzled nerves, just this side of too much.

When Shiro comes back down out of the clouds, Hunk is pressing soft kisses against his cheek, his hand soothing along Shiro’s side, across his stomach. He’s basically petting him, and Shiro can’t quite put to words how nice it is. He blinks up at Hunk blearily, earning himself a pretty, crooked smile, and before Hunk can say anything, Shiro reaches up and pulls him down into a deep, lazy kiss.

Hunk breathes a surprised noise, but Shiro can’t really find it in himself to care that he can taste himself on his lips, on his tongue. If anything, it sends a shiver through him, knowing that that taste is something Hunk has wanted for god knows how long.

Hell, if it lived up to Hunk’s expectations, Shiro would be happy to offer it again any time he wants.

Shiro rolls toward Hunk, intent on pulling him closer, kissing him more, but when he does, his thigh brushes between Hunk’s, and if Hunk’s breathy whimper didn’t give him away, the hot, hard press of his cock against Shiro’s thigh would. Hunk grins sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head as he mumbles, “Sorry, uh. I _really_ enjoyed that.”

Humming curiously, Shiro presses himself against Hunk, emboldened by the flush darkening his cheeks, by the way he twitches against him. He rubs his thigh against him once more, and when he pushes gently, Hunk rolls onto his back for him. 

Hunk blinks widely at him when he climbs into his lap, straddling him easily and leaning down for more kisses. His hands come to rest on Shiro’s bare hips, broad and warm, the feeling almost enough to distract him. He can’t forget about Hunk’s arousal, though, when it’s pressing up against the apex of his thighs, reminding him just how much Hunk wants him.

Shiro sits up in Hunk’s lap then, licking his lips and rocking his ass back against his arousal, and the way Hunk’s eyelids flutter, the way his grip on Shiro’s hips tightens sends a thrill sparking through him, demanding more.

He scoots back in Hunk’s lap enough that he can palm him through his sleep pants, breathing an unsteady groan at how _hard_ he is. He gives him a few slow strokes over his pants, just for the way it makes Hunk’s breath come a little harder, a little faster, before succumbing to his own desperate desire to reciprocate.

Hunk lifts his hips obligingly when Shiro starts tugging on his pants, sighing quietly when his arousal bounces out over the waistband. Shiro hums at the sight of him, trailing the tips of his fingers along the underside.

“Y-you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Hunk manages, so concerned with doing right by Shiro, even now. 

In response, Shiro just gives him a crooked smile and murmurs, “I know.”

He crawls down Hunk’s body then, his hand exploring Hunk’s chest, his stomach. He’s so soft, so warm, but whenever he tenses under him, whenever his breath catches in his chest, Shiro can _feel_ his strength. It has him shivering, remembering how easily Hunk can lift him if he wants to, how easily he can hold him down wherever he wants him. 

Shiro isn’t really into the idea of being tied down anymore, but if it’s Hunk holding him, careful and loving but so, so firmly... well, that’s more than fine.

He pauses to press lazy, open-mouthed kisses down Hunk’s belly, nuzzling against him and all but purring at the easy give to his dark skin. Glancing back up at him, Shiro is relieved to find Hunk still watching him with that dazed expression, his lips parted just a little. He must be doing something right, then. Taking that and running with it, Shiro presses a few more slow kisses against fading stretch marks, before dragging himself down further.

Without hesitation, Shiro wraps his hand around Hunk’s thick cock and strokes him gently, biting his lip at how wet he is already. He’s _big,_ too, not that Shiro had expected much less. There’s a difference between hazy, frantic fantasies and having the real thing in front of him, though, and the real thing is _fantastic._

Shiro hums softly and presses a kiss to the head of Hunk’s cock, his eyelids fluttering closed at the bare taste, at how wonderfully slick he is. He wraps his lips around the head and slides the tip of his tongue over the slit, which earns him a deep, winded moan of his name. Hunk’s brushing his forelock back against his head, so Shiro looks up at him again, holding his dark gaze easily as he slowly takes more into his mouth.

While he’s adjusting to the feeling, to the stretch of his jaw and the weight of Hunk on his tongue, he lets his hands wander, trailing over his hips, up his soft belly, unable to get over how _good_ he feels, how much he likes touching him. 

He glances back up when Hunk catches one of his hands, watching him press a sweet, desperate kiss to his prosthetic palm, his breath huffing out humid as he does. 

Wanting more of those sounds, of those hard breaths, Shiro hums around his mouthful, then focuses his attention there. He does his best to remember how Hunk had treated him, how he’d moved his tongue and his lips over him, but he’d been so dazed with pleasure it’s hard to recollect. He seems to be doing okay, though, because Hunk is panting for him, restlessly petting him and whispering to him about how well he’s doing, how good he feels, how pretty he looks.

Shiro’s starting to think he might have a thing for praise. It’s not exactly surprising. 

Hunk whimpers when he takes him deeper and sucks harder, bobbing his head slowly and stroking what he can’t quite fit. Eager for more of those sounds, Shiro moans for him, then pulls up enough to swipe his tongue over the head of Hunk’s cock, earning himself another hot pulse of precome and another brainless gasp of his name.

He’s starting to think he might be getting the hang of this, based on the sounds Hunk is making, when one of those broad hands comes down to his head and hurriedly guides him up and off. He wants to pout, but before he can start wondering if he did something wrong, Hunk is making good use of that strength of his. Reaching down and wrapping his arms around Shiro, he pulls him up and back into his lap, then catches his lips in a desperate, breathless kiss.

“Your—y-your hand, Shiro, _please,_ ” Hunk whimpers, pawing at Shiro’s wrist. He wraps his left hand around him, and when he starts stroking him like he would himself, steady and tight, twisting his wrist gently around the head, Hunk’s eyes roll back, his lips falling open. 

He lets Hunk kiss him again, eagerly drinking in his pleasured sounds, his panting breaths. Those strong arms wrap around his waist again, tugging him close. The press of their bodies doesn’t leave Shiro much room to work with, but Hunk starts rocking up into his hand for him, the slippery sounds of precome and saliva showing just how good he feels.

It doesn’t take Hunk long to come like this, wordlessly pleading for more kisses, more of Shiro’s affection. His breath hitches when he does, then shivers out in a broken, stuttering curse, his brow furrowed with pleasure and his flushed lips parting as he spills between them.

Shiro keeps his hand on him while he rides it out, stroking more out of him and moaning against his lips at the hot, wet feeling on his knuckles, on his stomach. Hunk sighs his name and fucks up into his grip until he’s shivering, his hands sliding down to curve around Shiro’s ass again, squeezing with a brainless groan. 

Hunk drops his head against Shiro’s shoulder while he comes down, dragging idle kisses along his collarbone. Shiro doesn’t even mind the feeling of sweat and come smearing between them; being in Hunk’s lap, wrapped in his arms overrides any stickiness a hundred times over. He pulls his hand from between them, though, the tips of his fingers dragging through the mess. 

“God, Shiro,” Hunk breathes, leaning up to nuzzle into Shiro’s ear. “You’re incredible, you know that?” 

Shiro hums and smiles, tilting his head aside for Hunk’s lips. “I was hoping.”

“No hope required.” Hunk leans up and nudges him until he ducks in for another slow kiss, his hands still squeezing Shiro’s ass. “Sorry I pulled you off. You were doing amazing, I just _really_ wanted to kiss you again.”

Something in Shiro settles at that. He hums and presses a soft kiss to Hunk’s brow, unconcerned for the sweat still lingering there. “Good to know.” 

A while later, once Hunk has let Shiro out of his lap just long enough to clean them both up, Lance comes barging back into the room with his hands over his eyes, yelling something about hoping they’re done, because this is his room too, and how he _could_ sleep in his old room, but it’s just not the same, and he hopes they understand. 

He yelps when Hunk pulls him onto the bed with them, but relaxes when he sees how fluidly his boyfriends are tangled together, how sated they must look.

According to Lance, Shiro looks smug, and while he wants to protest, he knows he probably can’t. He just shrugs and grins at them, and both of them give him identical dopey smiles in return, which just sets him laughing.

Not for the first time, Shiro thinks this might be really good for him, and resolves to do his best to make it good for them too.

\--

A few months later, Lance tells Shiro he loves him.

It’s so casual, said like it’s obvious, the same way he always tells Hunk. He hadn’t said it to Shiro yet, though, and while a large part of Shiro already knew, an equally large part of him almost flies his lion into a mountain.

While Lance is going on about how he’d ruined his own plans, wailing incoherently about rose petals and candlelight, Hunk is laughing almost hysterically, and Shiro is doing his best to concentrate around the giddiness bubbling up inside of him, filling his stomach and his chest and spilling out of his massive grin. 

When they reconvene in the castle after the mission, Hunk catches him in the hall, still giggling, and whispers the words against his lips, so smooth and easy it has Shiro’s heart soaring.

They catch up to Lance before he can start being too dramatic, and when Shiro pulls him tight against his side and breathes his reply into his hair, and into Hunk’s ear, every single part of him settles into a deep, satisfied quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Kintsugi is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with lacquer mixed with powdered gold. As a philosophy, it treats breakage and repair as part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise."

**Author's Note:**

> i have a [tumblr](http://avoidingavoidance.tumblr.com) and a [twittr](http://twitter.com/gaarbage)


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